


Fail

by mansikka



Series: On Waking [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angst, Caring Dean, Caring Sam, Confused Castiel, Emotional Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, M/M, Memory Loss, Tension, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <img/> </p>
</div>Cas wakes to find himself human without any idea as to why. Dean and Sam take care of him, are nothing but welcoming, but Cas has the distinct impression that there are things they aren't telling him. <p>As Cas recovers, anger at his inability to remember what has happened to him, coupled with his frustration at both Dean's protectiveness and his own confusing feelings for Dean is turned outwards, until he is lashing out at both Dean and Sam and pushing them away.</p><hr/>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely people :)
> 
> First off, this is going to be a two-parter. **edit - turned out to be a three in case you haven' already realised!** The second part is half-plotted out in my head already but I don't have time to write it all out just yet, and the end of this part seemed like a natural stopping point for what I wanted to do. It's not exactly a cliff-hanger ending, but, well, you'll see if you read it.
> 
> Second, if you stick with it, I promise the second part will be, um, happier than the first!
> 
> Thirdly, the usual: no character deaths, no squick moments, no need to reach for anything other than chocolate or a glass of wine. Everything for this part is already written and will be posted every day or so until all six chapters are up.  
> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> x

_“But I have failed you. And I will always fail you. How can you possibly ever begin to trust me without question?”_

_“It wasn't beginning anything, Cas. I already do. I do trust you. With everything. With all that I have.”_

_Cas stared back expressionless at Dean for what felt like forever, then gave the smallest shake of his head._

_“I am sorry, Dean. But you are wrong.”_

_Dean was helpless but to watch in silence as Cas turned and walked away from him, leaving a feeling like he had taken the oxygen out of the room with him._

***

Mumbled conversations.

Off to his right that was what he heard; mumbled conversations that he listened to more as a wall of sound, rather than as individual words that his mind could untangle enough for him to make sense of.

Cas knew the voices though. He would have recognized them anywhere: from light years away when he was nothing more than a speck of light himself, to the depths of the oceans that he was still bewildered by the fact that humans had explored less of than space.

Dean and Sam. His family. And family in a sense of the word that he had never experienced before, despite calling his fellow angels brother and sister. They all had the same father, that much was true, so that did make them siblings, but still. There was not the comfort there, the sense of belonging that he felt from being in the company of Dean and Sam Winchester. Even when they teased and mocked him for all the things they felt he should know by now. Especially then.

BBrother.

Cas shifted a little in discomfort at the word, feeling a frown form thickly on his face as he played it over, tested it out. It sat heavily on his mind almost as a physical weight, and in that moment he couldn’t quite work out why.

Sam and Dean were brothers, that much was true, and Cas couldn’t ever compete with that. He wouldn’t want to belittle the bond that was between them after all, knowing how very dependent on one another that they were.

No, Cas thought to himself, stirring just a little, he was their friend. _Best_ friend, he amended, smiling to himself and remembering Dean calling him that on more than one occasion.

 _Yes_ , he thought again, the smile widening a little with pride. _Best friend. I can be that. I_ am _that._

Cas flexed his fingers, felt the soft brush of cotton beneath his fingertips, and traced patterns there for a moment as he listened to the voices continue, attempting to tune them in. He was, he supposed, for some reason he couldn’t currently recall, laying on a bed. Cas liked beds, liked the way they seemed to hold him, and let him lean back, be  _still_ for once because being an angel and doing the things he normally did was not normally conducive to getting any form of rest.

There were many moments he had woken in unfamiliar places, had to take some time to gather his thoughts and work out where he was, why he was there. More often than not, he mused, he woke up in situations like this. With Sam and Dean never far out of his reach, as though they were both magnets for him when he was temporarily weakened, and co-conspirators in causing whatever mischief had put him in that situation in the first place.

Cas’ heart chose that moment to thud; thick and heavy as though his chest was full of treacle and the organ was fighting to swim to the surface. It was joined immediately by an insistent, gnawing, growling sensation lower in his abdomen, and a low whining noise starting up as though the sound itself was coming from his own inner ear.

Cas felt his breathing starting to flounder as his heart picked up its pace. He inhaled sharply, feeling as though there wasn’t enough space in his lungs, and in response to that he tried to breathe out, to make room, to suck in another breath. But out of seemingly nowhere, his breaths were getting harder and harder to get through, and the noise was growing louder and louder, and his heart was now racing as though it was trying to pound its way through his skin.

Cas began scrabbling at the softness of the cotton beneath his fingers, pressing his heels hard into the bed, and with a sense of horror realized that the sound he had just unconsciously made deep in his throat that felt like his essence was erupting was a choked sob.

The voices instantly stopped.

There was a pressure instantly on the side of the bed as though someone had sat down beside him. Cas kept his eyes firmly closed, feeling for some reason that he wasn’t supposed to look, to seek comfort. And then a gentle hand was brushing the side of his face, before fingers reached up and seemed to be stroking his hair away from his forehead.

So soft. So gentle. So caring.

Cas couldn’t understand why, but that gentle touch opened something up in him, and out of what felt like nowhere, he was crying; big, thick tears cascaded down his cheeks and left a cold trail down his neck. He shook his head back and forth in utter, inconsolable anguish, and that just dispersed the tears further, and the worst thing of it all was that he just couldn't understand why any of it was happening.

Cas heart continued erratically pounding though now even harder than before, and he jolted as a hand pressed gently over it as though whoever was touching him was attempting to soothe and reassure him, to give him a sense of grounding.

Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong, and Cas couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

He cracked his eyes open a fraction, taking in Dean and Sam’s concerned expressions staring back at him from above, gasped loudly, once, and then knew no more.

* * *

When Cas woke again it was in shock. He sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, his hand pressed hard against his chest in surprise at feeling the fluttering there against the skin of his palm.

Because he had realized what felt so very wrong.

What was wrong was that his heart was beating in a vital way that was necessary to keep him breathing. What was wrong was that he was sleeping in the first place, that it was something he needed. What was wrong, was that he was, without a single doubt, human.

Another, louder gasp bubbled up out of him, and in answer, the bed dipped beside him once more. Cas snapped his head to the side to see Dean sitting there looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face, which did nothing to calm Cas’ now-frantic nerves. Dean’s hands were paused halfway out to him, and for a moment Cas thought Dean wanted to reach out and comfort him with touch, but from the look on Dean's face, something had clearly changed his mind midway.

Cas shakily pushed himself back until he was sat against the headboard, duvet pressed up and under his chin as though it was a shield, and the ghosts of what he supposed were dreams faded away into the recesses of his mind as he turned wordlessly for an explanation from Dean.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, his voice not much above a whisper. Cas wondered if Dean was worried he would startle him further given his reaction, or if he himself simply needed to grow accustomed to hearing with human hearing.

It was not a thought he enjoyed very much having to have.

“I’m human,” Cas blurted out unwillingly, eyebrows raising both at the realization yet again, and at the brokenness of his own voice as he spoke.

Cas watched as Dean cuffed the back of his neck and nodded a few times, looking off to the side with a guarded look and then quietly admitting, “Yeah. Yeah, you are, Cas.”

Cas licked his lips, swallowed, gripped the duvet a little tighter to his chest. “...Why?”

Dean’s eyes grew wide, and a rush of different emotions that Cas was not quick enough to catch skirted across Dean’s face before he managed to reign them in, shut them down. “‘Why’?”

“I… I mean. What happened?”

Cas continued watching as Dean’s carefully masked face gave nothing away, but his eyes told a different story entirely, showing things like regret and sadness lingering behind them, and even fear, but before Cas could ask about it, Dean stumbled out a haggard, “Don’t… don’t you remember, Cas?”

Cas thought back to what he'd thought of as his dreams; thundering sounds, blinding lights, noise, rage, fighting.

Something must have happened to make him like this. Something bad. Something so awful that his human mind had chosen not to let him remember the details.

Cas swallowed again, forced back the tears he knew were threatening to spill over his cheeks once more, and croaked out, “Tell me, Dean. Tell me what happened to me.”

* * *

Dean stared back at Cas, giving him the distinct impression that Dean had about a thousand questions of his own, but no way of actually putting them into words. He took so long to answer that Cas began to squirm a little under the intensity of his gaze, and the squirming drew to Cas’ attention just how very weak his body felt.

Every part of him seemed to ache, as though he had been buffeted and blown around by some unknown force, and for all he knew, he might well have been. Because he couldn't remember a thing, had no idea what he was doing there, and Dean wouldn’t—

“You fell, Cas,” Dean stumbled out hesitantly, his voice unusually small, and so meek to Cas’ ears that it frightened him.

“I fell,” Cas repeated, as though the phrase was bitter in his mouth and he was trying to chew around it to avoid the taste. “How did I fall?”

Dean’s face. If only Cas could interpret the look on Dean’s face, maybe part of the panic that hadn’t yet left him would fade away at least a little. But Dean looked lost, as though he didn’t want to be the one giving Cas what was inevitably unpleasant news. But as Dean’s view of things were all Cas had, he stared back, unblinking, hoping it was enough to convey to Dean that he needed more from him than he had yet given.

“I… there was a…” Dean began, but his eyes fell away from Cas’ and stared straight down at his hands in his own lap, as though searching for the words he needed there on his own skin. When he looked back up, Cas’ heart felt as though it was clawing its way up his throat; there was a guarded look about Dean’s expression in that moment that Cas really, really did not like.

All of the signals that Dean was giving him told Cas that nothing positive was coming his way. All of his expressions, and gestures, and the way he held himself as though he was expecting to receive some kind of physical blow, surged continual panic through Cas until he knew he must have looked desperate for help.

With a squaring of his shoulders Dean cleared his throat, shook his head a little, and pressed on. “What do you remember?”

Cas thought about that, considering what he knew, and where to even begin. He remembered all sorts of things. The building of the pyramids, the coagulation of elements to form the universe, the—

“I mean… about this,” Dean interrupted, smiling a tiny smile that said he knew exactly what Cas was thinking and where his mind was wandering to. “About… you know. What happened,”

Dean looked as though he was holding his breath, and Cas couldn’t help jumping to the conclusion that it was out of fear for how much he had to tell him. There was still no comfort to be received from the careful look on Dean’s face, so Cas just shook his head, closed his eyes for a moment, and tried his hardest to remember.

_...The Impala tyres kicking up dirt and gravel…_

_...Sam wiping his eyes and laughing hard and hearty…_

_...Dean smiling, trying not to…_

_...Pain… so much pain…_

_...Dark… and Light… and emptiness…_

_...Noise… so much noise…_

Cas wrinkled up his eyes further before opening them once more and sighing in defeat. “I remember very little. At least. Very little that makes any kind of sense,”

“Anything, Cas?” Dean tried, and there was a plea in his tone that made Cas feel as though Dean was holding on to a final shred of hope that he himself did not feel.

Cas breathed hard again, forcing himself to think.

_...Voices…_

_...A Wendigo…_

_… Ice cream…?_

The vagueness of his memories had Cas frowning, shrugging his shoulders lightly then wincing at the reminder of just how much everything hurt. “Colorado,” he sighed out, closing his eyes a little to the wave of weariness that seemed intent on pulling him back under. “You and Sam were attempting to kill a Wendigo. Sam… Sam saw an ice cream house on the way back to the bunker that reminded him of one you went to as children and we stopped. You made me try almost every flavor of ice cream,”

There was something in the images playing of that memory that was distorted, that Cas couldn’t quite see clear enough to make any sense of. But whatever he had remembered was clearly not what Dean wanted to hear, because his face instantly drained of colour, and he was swallowing repeatedly as though he was trying to keep a bad taste from flooding his mouth, whilst his fingers had bunched up so tightly in Cas’ duvet that his knuckles had turned white with the effort.

“Dean?” Cas prompted when Dean didn’t say anything in response at all, and just continued staring at him in a way that had long gone beyond unsettling.

Cas watched as Dean carefully masked his expression once again, then took a long, deep breath.

“Cas,” And the gentleness in Dean’s tone had Cas’ heart begin to pump that little bit harder in worry. “That’s… that’s gotta be...that’s like… last summer, Cas.”

Cas thought about that with alarm, realized he has no clue what the current date was, and when he told Dean this it seemed to make him struggle all over again.

“Cas,” Dean said urgently, leaning over Cas a little, chewing down hard on his lip as he lightly gripped his shoulder and fixed Cas with a careful look. “I… you’re missing a whole chunk of time, Cas. I’m… worried that… maybe there’s something… I… maybe we need to get you to a doctor,”

Cas’ instinct was to reach inside himself for his grace, let it trickle out in search of any problems he was having and heal himself. But there was nothing in him to do that anymore, only blood and flesh and air in his lungs, no way of doing anything to help himself. Or anyone else.

The realization had Cas shaking his head slowly, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over him as reluctant acknowledgment of his situation set in. “I don’t believe there is any need for that.”

“But—”

Cas paused for a moment, deciding on the right words to say, hoping in a way that they would give him comfort, as well as Dean. “When angels fall… when we lose our grace… become human,” Cas sighed, feeling oddly sick at what was his reality now. “Our memories can be lost. Either permanently, or to come back over time. As frustrating as this is… for the circumstances I am in, this is probably ‘normal’,”

Dean’s eyes blew wide in alarm, and he pulled back from Cas, sitting up hard. “You never said that could happen,”

In Cas’ state of confusion as sleep fought to reclaim him, Cas thought he could detect accusation in Dean’s voice. “I cannot imagine a reason for me choosing this to happen so that I would need to tell you,”

Dean’s silence called Cas to open his eyes once more, but the lost look on Dean’s face just made him want to close them again. He didn’t though, since Dean seemed to be searching for something that Cas didn’t think he knew how to give him.

“What do I do, Cas?” Dean asked him softly after a while, still staring hard at Cas as though somewhere in there, Cas really could give him all the answers.

“I think,” Cas began, and then stopped, because in being honest with himself he found he was not entirely sure. “I do not think there is anything any of us can do, Dean. This… this _feels_ permanent. I… am… this is what I am now.”

Cas’ voice came out numb, controlled, but inside he was screaming, desperate for his own answers, for reasons, for a way back. He had been as close to human as was possible before, and all he remembered from that experience was weakness, loneliness, and despair. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let himself feel that way again.

But for now, at least until he was stronger and had time to work out what had happened, Cas accepted there was little he could do. Clearing his throat of the bitter taste there he glanced up at Dean and grimaced. “I believe it is better that… it is better that the memories are allowed to surface in their own time. That they are not forced. Unless… unless there is some issue we need to deal with immediately?”

Because what if whatever reason Cas had fallen was something that was unresolved, and he was now powerless to do anything to help? What if he had made Dean and Sam, and himself now, vulnerable, to something that was beyond any of their capabilities to fix. What if—

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head as though to ward off Cas’ panic and offering up a sickly smile as he lightly squeezed Cas’ shoulder again for a second then dragged his fingers away. “I… you did it. There’s no big bad waiting for us. You just… you just concentrate on getting strong, okay?”

“I… haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” Cas asked, hating the way his voice was trembling, dreading that he’d been the cause of something awful that he’d have to add to the list of things he needed forgiveness for. If whatever he’d done was so terrible that the only punishment possible was his falling.

But Dean just shook his head, smiling at him brightly. “Nope. All’s good, Cas. Honestly,”

Cas felt temporary relief and respite at hearing Dean’s words, and he slumped back impossibly further, letting his eyes flutter closed. But they were open again a beat later, staring up at Dean uncertainly as something occurred to him.

“Uh… Dean,” he began, loathing the words that were about to come out of his mouth. Because they would sound so needy, and the last thing he wanted was to be a burden for Dean and Sam. They had been through enough. He shouldn’t put this on them. He would be asking so much of them, and they’d pushed him away once before when he needed such shelter. What if they did it again?

But Dean was leaning back down, biting his lip, looking hopeful as though he thought Cas might have suddenly remembered something.

“Is.... Is it alright if I stay here for a while? I… I mean, at the bunker? I presume we are the bunker,” Cas added, frowning a little as he looked around the unfamiliar room. “I will do my best to—”

“Cas,” Dean blurted out, and Cas’ eyebrows shot up to hear the crack in Dean’s voice as he answered him. “This is your home, Cas. Always has been. Always gonna be. You’re not staying a _while…_ you’re just… _staying_. Got it?”

Dean held Cas’ gaze as though in challenge, daring him to disagree. But Cas could not, because the surge of relief that flooded through him at not having to find his own way in the world before he could probably even walk on his own made him so very tired, that his eyes shut of their own accord, his head sank deeper still into his pillow, and the last thing he managed to mumble out before sleep hit him was, “Thank you, Dean,”

* * *

Dean walked back to his room in a daze after Cas had fallen asleep, and slumped heavily down on his bed as though he was made of stone. This room, that had once felt like sanctuary and comfort, now felt cold, empty, almost like he was intruding on a space he no longer had the right to occupy.

Allowing himself just a moment to sit, to curl his fingers tightly around the edge of the bed, Dean then forced himself to his feet with determination.

Clothes that sometimes drifted into one shared collection were carefully divided, separating the closet directly down the middle into two distinctly different sections. Books and a couple of souvenirs were carefully scooped up together and put in the bottom of one side of the closet, and his own personal items spread out around the room, taking up and occupying all of the space as they had once done.

Dean came to a halt as his fingers tightly gripped the photo frame beside the bed; allowing himself to look raised a lump in his throat that didn’t feel like it would ever go down, and it was in this moment that Sam knocked on the door, standing in the doorway and watching as though he'd sensed Dean’s despair and had sought him out.

“He’s sleeping,” Dean said before Sam could speak first, and Dean took a final glimpse at the photo before picking up the couple of others in the room and carefully storing them away as well.

“I know. I saw,” Sam took a step into the room; Dean continued to avoid his gaze but felt his eyes on him as he moved about.

“Turns out we got it wrong again,” Dean laughed coldly to himself. “Don’t know why I’m the least bit surprised. Don’t know why I let myself think this wasn’t gonna be without some major fuck up—”

“Dean—”

But Dean busied himself, tidying things that didn’t need to be tidied, straightening edges and lining up corners, unable to do any of it properly for the way his hands were shaking. Forcing himself to turn, look at Sam for all of a second, he nodded, a mockery of a smile on his face.

“Guess I was asking for it,” Dean bit out, coming to a stop and tightly folding his arms across his chest, scowling down at the floor.

“Asking for what?” Sam’s voice was nothing but concern, and that concern did nothing but make Dean want to run, scream, fight, fly away from this reality.

“He doesn’t remember,”

“Dean,” And then Sam’s voice became that careful, cautious tone he used only when he was most wary of Dean’s reaction. Or most worried about him.

“He doesn’t remember, Sam. Doesn’t remember me. Doesn’t remember _us_ , that we were… that I…” Dean snorted then, shaking his head and laughing brokenly again.

“Shoulda known, Sam. I should’ve. ‘Cos since when did we ever get anything good that lasted, huh?”

“Dean—”

But Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand and the turning of his shoulder, nowhere near ready to be dealing with Sam’s sympathy.

“I can’t do this now, Sam. I can’t. I’m too… I…. I just can’t. Not yet, okay?”

Sam nodded, continuing to stand and just stare, because he knew there was little else he could do in that moment. “Okay. But you know—”

“Yeah, I know,”

With a final pause of helplessness Sam watched, then quietly left the room, closing the door silently behind him.

At the soft click of the door closing Dean’s shoulders sagged. He stared down at his hands, curled them up into fists and felt the sudden urge to strike out, hit something, anything, anything at all to channel the pain he was feeling elsewhere. Breathing shallowly he tried to force that need away, closing his eyes, fighting back his instincts to just scream, and rage, and burn the world around him.

In bittersweet contrast to how he was feeling, Dean gently took the trenchcoat from where it had been slung over the back of the chair, and folded it into a neat pile that he put on the foot of the bed. Walking around to the other side of the bed he slowly slid the drawer open, pulling out the angel blade that contrasted cold and lifeless against the warm softness of the leather wallet beside it. He gripped both tightly for a moment before folding them into the trenchcoat, and carefully slid the parcel onto a shelf in his side of the closet.

A choked sob escaped him; Dean closed the closet door and rested his head there for a moment, berating himself for not being strong enough to keep himself together. With a set of his shoulders he forced himself upright, clenching his fists tightly enough for his fingernails to dig into the softness of his palms, nodding out to the emptiness of the room.

He could do this. He had to.

Silence rushed at him, blasting him with realization and memories that may as well have been little more than dreams, and when he could take no more he grabbed his car keys, seeking the solace of a bleak highway.

* * *

 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The next few days passed for Cas as though he was in a living nightmare, stuck behind glass and unable to do little more than observe what was happening around him.

Despite being horrified to find himself being human, Cas thought he could deal with the task that was being human fairly well. Dean was always on hand to help him, to show him how to do the things he never considered he'd need to know about until now, and he kept finding these leftover memories of what he should and shouldn’t be doing that guided him through the basics as though he was operating instinctually to perform forgotten skills.

He had learned to recognize hunger, had no choice whatsoever but to know when he was tired, and that full bladder feeling was uncomfortable enough for him to want to resolve that particular problem the moment it made a show of itself.

But he was so tired, so thoroughly exhausted, and aching all of the time, that every little thing he attempted to do for himself unassisted wore him out so thoroughly that he was asleep more than he wasn’t. So much so, that Cas had convinced himself that whatever his last moments were as an angel, they were traumatic, and probably involved a very unevenly matched fight.

He kept on wanting to ask for a prompt for his memory but knew it was pointless, and probably better this way, despite his feeling of utter helplessness. But knowing that it was pointless didn’t bring him much comfort when he had to lean on Dean, or Sam, just to stand. He felt an undercurrent of crippling embarrassment for the way that he had to rely on them to bring him food, and even on occasion actually help him eat the food because of the way his arm shook and his fingers didn’t seem completely capable of holding onto something as complex as a spoon.

But he could tell his strength was slowly returning. He felt the tendrils of it ghosting over his joints and muscles, and though he knew he wouldn’t have even a fraction of the strength he used to have, he thought he might possibly, eventually, be strong _enough_.

Whether or not he was strong enough to be a hunter was another matter.

Cas was not even sure sometimes if that was what he wanted for himself anyway. In the silence of many nights alone attempting to get used to his new condition, Cas had searched consciously for anything remaining of his grace but found it completely and utterly replaced with a soul. Which unlike the previous times he’d lost his grace, meant this time there really was no going back. Which meant the life he lived before was now entirely alien and separate to him. Which also meant he didn’t know if he could live in Dean and Sam’s world of hunting and constant fighting, when he would always be aware of how much better he could be handling things were he still an angel. At the very best, he would always remain as something of a liability to them both, and that was something Cas would continue to fight against being with what little strength he had.

Or maybe it was better this way, Cas thought, doubting himself all over again. At least as a mere human he couldn’t cause too much damage, he told himself, somehow managing to skip over memories of the amount of damage both Sam and Dean had done themselves from time to time.

The constant barrage of guilt, fear, and doubt Cas kept to himself, though, seeing no need to give either of them anything else to be concerned about.

They were both so good to him, relentlessly attentive to his every need and not even blinking an eye when they had to help him do the things that he was embarrassed even to have to think about doing, let alone having to ask for help with.

Sam was warm, doing everything he could think of to keep Cas comfortable, and informed, and entertained. When Cas’ hands had grown just steady enough, Sam had presented him with a tablet, already set up with a few apps he thought Cas would like or find useful, and gave him a quick tour of how it worked.

Cas found the tablet both a lifeline and a source of comfort, especially when he woke in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, drenched from lucid nightmares that somehow escaped his memory the second his eyes opened and he found himself staring up at the ceiling with his heart racing and his skin crawling.

He didn’t mention the nightmares to Sam or Dean either.

Dean was helpful too, Cas thought, smiling. He’d had to force Dean away from his room after the first couple of nights because Dean had been insistent he would sleep in the chair beside Cas’ bed in case he needed anything.

Cas found Dean’s habit of tucking him in and ensuring he had everything he could possibly need to hand both humbling and amusing; it was as though Dean had anticipated all of Cas’ needs before Cas knew them for himself, and that thought warmed Cas in ways he carefully tried not to think about too much.

Dean was a little different than usual.

Cas frowned as he considered this, attempting to work out what it was about Dean that was so slightly different yet so very noticeable to him. Dean was as funny and sarcastic as always, continued to surprise Cas with his apparently psychic level of thoughtfulness, and demonstrated his intelligence and knowledge on more than one occasion in a way that had Cas feeling oddly kind of proud.

But there really was something different; something in the way Dean held himself, and the way his words often seemed to be thoroughly considered before they were ever spoken out loud.

Cas kept on catching these strange looks between Sam and Dean, and even though he was well acquainted with such things happening there seemed to be a different intensity to them now that left Cas feeling distinctly clueless. There was something he was definitely missing, that was certain, but each time Cas found a roundabout way to ask what that something was, Dean was laughing it off, smiling in a way that never quite reached his eyes, telling Cas that absolutely nothing was wrong at all.

Cas didn’t believe him.

In fact, the more time he had to think about things and grow increasingly frustrated at his lack of memory, Cas was convinced that Dean was lying when he said that everything was okay. Something had to have happened for Cas to no longer be an angel. Something must have happened that Dean was afraid to tell him about, and all Cas could think was that he really had done something wrong, something unforgivable, something so awful that Dean had him wrapped in cotton wool for now, until he was strong enough to face up to whatever he had done.

Dean’s protectiveness of him, his own back and forth acceptance and resistance of his situation, and the constant feeling that something was very definitely _missing_ left Cas tired and constantly on edge. He couldn’t help but think that if he could just remember _something_ it would help in some way, even if he didn’t like whatever it was that he remembered.

Cas repeatedly prodded at his memory, forcing himself through his reluctance, because there had to be answers there that would make sense of all of the confusion that he felt. He had to keep going.

He had to try.

* * *

A few weeks had now passed since Cas had woken disoriented and so very human. Weeks where he had been reminded of just how much Sam and Dean cared about him, where nothing was too much trouble for them to help him with, and where any fears he had allowed to surface had been soothed away and firmly dismissed. Because all of his fears were centered on things like not being of any use to them now. Of not being good enough. Of having no purpose here, or anywhere really at all.

Luckily for Cas, Sam and Dean completely disagreed with those sentiments, and told him so, loud and often, any and every time he attempted to let them have a voice. Cas still didn’t want to acknowledge that there was no way back, that he was in fact human permanently now, that he would never again be of any help. But Sam and Dean’s acceptance and welcoming of him just as he was, had done enough to push down those despairing thoughts, at least temporarily.

There was a small glow growing inside of him; Cas thought this must be what _acceptance_ felt like. Cas found that he liked it a whole lot more than he ever thought he would, how it felt so very vital for his peace of mind, and wondered if he had ever tried to seek it out from Sam and Dean in the past. He was still lacking what Dean told him was at least a year of his memory, and even though he had flashes of images sometimes that vaguely suggested where a puzzle piece might need to go, there was still not enough for him to be able to make the picture up in his head.

All of these back and forth thoughts he was currently having for himself were currently being washed away under the steady warm stream of the shower. Now that he could stand on his own, and for long enough to hold himself up, albeit on shaky legs, Cas luxuriated in this activity that he could do purely for himself.

Cas enjoyed the feel of the water sluicing over his skin, the way the foam from the shower gel slipped off of him, leaving a light scent in its absence that he had come to associate with Dean. It was a dangerous thought, because only the barest thought of Dean while he was naked like this had his body reacting in ways Cas did not want to have to deal with. But aside from that little _obstacle_ , showers had become one of Cas’ favorite parts of his new daily routine.

As had carefully checking and rechecking his thoughts about Dean.

When Cas had first woken up, he had been so bewildered by finding himself human, that the plague that had been those wretched feelings he’d always had lingering there for Dean didn’t even get a look in. But as he’d recovered, and what’s more had recovered thanks to Dean’s very gentle care, those feelings had reared up with full vigour, and were nudging away at his senses and making him distracted in ways he really, really didn’t want to have to deal with at all, especially not in addition to everything else he was having to come to terms with.

Because Dean would never want that with him. Dean had never wanted that; in fact, Cas was pretty sure in his foggiest of memories that there was even an incident at some point that made that fact absolutely clear. He was not too sure of the details, but he knew it had to have happened somewhere along the line, and felt a flush of embarrassment each time he let himself wonder just what had actually happened. He was even half-okay with the idea, or as much as he could be anyway, as though he had long resigned himself to this horrible sense of unrequited wanting that never quite dimmed.

Unfortunately, his traitorous mind—and body—appeared to have other ideas when it came to not thinking about Dean.

Cas sighed as he looked down at himself and cursed his body’s reactions, switched off the shower, and adamantly ignored the discomfort that he felt as he stepped out.

* * *

The problem with Dean, Cas thought to himself as he stared up at the ceiling unable to sleep yet again. The problem with Dean, was that there really was no problem with Dean at all.

He and Dean had grown close over the years, and even if it was not quite as close as Cas would have liked them to be—a feeling that was both amusing and confusing to him in the first place—he was honoured to be one of the few people in the world that Dean genuinely counted on, and cared about. It was a select circle, membership earned by blood or trust, and one that would be hard to get back out of again; not that he was looking to do that any time soon.

No, the problem with Dean, was that this closeness between them made it feel for Cas as though sometimes the air had been sucked out of the room. How their nearness, their close proximity felt charged and fuelled, ready for something to happen, something to unfold, something to pounce.

Cas had lost count of the number of times he remembered forcing himself not to be the one to pounce, then wondered about all the times he’d forgotten about that urge as well. Which left him reeling in excruciating embarrassment.

Dean was making this transition for Cas as easy and painfree as he possibly could, guiding him subtly every step of the way, and with an infinite well of patience that Cas was both surprised yet unsurprised to be receiving.

Dean seemed also so very aware of Cas’ current need for distance. Everything _felt_ loud, _sounded_ too textured, and _tasted_ too bright, leaving Cas overwhelmed and needing not to have close proximity, yet at the same time wanting someone at arm's’ length to give him reassurance when it all got too much.

That person for Cas was always, always Dean.

Sam, of course, was incredible, but it was Dean, as it was always Dean, who was the one to bolster Cas up, to keep him going when he was doubting, to lift his mood when he was flagging. He did it all, without prompting, without asking, without any sign that it was a burden to him in the slightest.

Sometimes Cas wondered if that was actually the case, or if Dean was just hiding it really well until he fully recovered.

Dean was hesitant to touch him now, approaching him as though he might be a trapped, startled bird about to panic and fly away out of his grasp. Cas knew he had himself to blame for that, for the way he pulled away from him so suddenly when he first woke, but he still found himself wishing that Dean would stop being so very careful.

Cas thought that although there had never been anything that could be described as intimate between the two of them, the way they could comfort one another with just a simple hand on a shoulder or arm used to be so very settling. It was as though he was leaching calm from Dean’s skin into his own, and no matter what the situation they found themselves in, Dean’s touch had always had that effect on him.

Now, since that initial gripping of his shoulder that Cas has spent far too much time dwelling on, there had been nothing, aside from of course all the times Dean had had to help him walk, and move, and do other things Cas was still flaring with embarrassment about. No, Cas told himself with a firm shake of his head, those touches somehow didn’t count.

There had been an ease between them before all this, Cas remembered wistfully, and somehow in this mess, he had managed to lose that as well as everything else he had lost. He was almost certain he was responsible for something very terrible; what else could have taken away Dean’s closeness as well as everything else?

Since their initial conversation about it, Dean had not brought up Cas’ lack of memories again. He had left Cas to think things through, just as Cas had asked him to, and it was Sam that did the gentle questioning, trying to guide him through his own mind as though it was an overgrown forest that he’d found himself lost in.

Small things were coming back to him; Cas remembered vague details of battles, of weapons that seem overwhelmingly powerful in his now human perception. He remembered loneliness too, a sense of what Sam called ‘hitting rock bottom’, and a sadness that seemed to seep into his very bones.

Cas tried not to dwell on that particular half-memory if he could help it, because it was too painful, and did nothing to improve his mood.

Other things Cas was starting to remember, though, were good, nice things, and he was sure it was no coincidence that the care he was currently receiving was triggering them. Fleeting moments of times with Sam and Dean drifted through his thoughts and made him smile, and it was the sensations of these memories that seemed to stick with him the most. The feeling of turning dusty pages and a pungent smell in the air as he researched with Sam. The smell of oil as he watched over Dean lovingly cleaning the Impala and insisting he did it by hand instead of having Cas help him. The creaking of a motel room mattress as he sat shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip with Dean on a very narrow bed as Dean explained the finer points of Star Wars to him whilst they watched it on his laptop.

Cas smiled to himself there in the dark; he was pretty sure Dean had tried to explain Star Wars to him on more than one occasion, and secretly thought he already both understood and enjoyed it, but for some reason had never let Dean know that fact.

These were the memories his mind chose to give him, and as frustrating as it was slow, Cas accepted that this was how it must be, at least for the time being. There hadn’t seemed to be any results from trying to force the memories, and now he was certain Dean and Sam really weren’t planning on making him leave any time soon, he was more or less happy enough to let the memories come back in their own time.

A part of him didn’t want the memories to come back at all.

Cas knew he shouldn’t feel like that in case there was something important he should be remembering, but his mind never let him stray too far away from the certainty that he had done something wrong. And if he couldn’t remember the awful thing he had done, then he couldn’t feel the guilt for it, and wouldn’t have to look for the hurt he had caused in Sam and Dean’s eyes every time they looked back at him.

Cas did remember some of the wrongs he had done, and they already filled him with enough self-loathing and despair. He didn’t mention these things, but he knew that Sam and Dean knew too, obviously, and Cas couldn’t help but search their expressions for something like the hatred and anger he expected to see reflected there.

Sometimes he told himself that if Sam and Dean had already forgiven him for all of the things he _did_ remember, then surely they could and would do the same for this new thing he had done that he _didn’t_. He was torn between thinking he should know about it, and not wanting to know about it, and he was keeping himself awake at night with this cycle of spiraling thoughts that clearly weren’t getting him anywhere.

With a heavy sigh at the lack of any progress his thought process was taking, Cas sighed out into the darkness and stretched languidly. He ran a hand down his chest and stomach, resting it there and enjoying the settled feeling it gave him. He found himself also strangely thankful that his replaying of his fears had at least calmed his body enough to control his reaction to thinking about Dean in ways he knew were inappropriate.

Those thoughts of Dean were beginning to preoccupy him to distraction; Cas found himself checking and rechecking every word he said, and action he took, just in case his active imagination spilled over into real life and he reached out or touched when he shouldn’t. It was a constant battle, feeling larger than he thought it ought to be and strangely overwhelming.

Forcing any lingering thoughts of Dean away, Cas rolled heavily on to his side, adjusted his duvet, and tried to will his mind to quiet enough to allow him to sleep.

* * *

Thoughts and images of what he might have done didn’t just haunt Cas as he tried to sleep. Days began to be littered with flashes of things, winces of hurt at his own actions, and sometimes Cas felt as though he was being buffered where he sat, stood or laid, with the onslaught of memories and half-memories taunting him relentlessly.

Cas was stacking up books and tomes in an archive room in the bunker, even as these thoughts continued to whirl in him and keep his mind overly occupied. He was strong enough to be doing something, and he was restless enough to want to do anything, and while Dean was refusing to let him do anything too strenuous, this archiving was about as much as he could do. Not that he minded; he found he knew a lot of what was already written on most of those pages, and that gave him a sort of unexpected comfort along with the feeling of possibly being of help. Especially as this comfort distracted him just enough from the constant buzz that was his guilt.

Cas paused for a moment, looking at the stacks of books around him and wondering if the resources in the bunker were really as endless as they always seemed. He heard a noise; Sam and Dean were stood outside the room speaking in hushed voices, and although Cas’ hearing was not what it once was, it was more than adequate to pick up some of the words when their voices raised. Unconsciously tilting his head as he wondered to himself why they hadn’t yet come in, Cas’ blood ran cold as he heard:

“He’s not ready, Sam. I’m telling you. It’s too soon.”

“You can’t keep him in the dark forever, you know.”

“He said we can’t force him to remember. We can’t, Sam. Not yet, not when—”

“Dean—”

Cas abruptly made himself look busy as the swinging open of the door signaled Dean’s entrance into the room, keeping his expression neutral whilst his heart pounded frantically within.

“Hey, Cas. How’s it going?”

There was a warmth and gentleness in Dean’s voice that Cas desperately wanted to lean into, but after what he had just heard his heart was pounding too hard to let him. Dean was keeping something from him, there really _was_ something important that he needed to remember. Cas was filled with a sense of dread, and his entire body felt suddenly heavily leaden.

But if he had learned anything from Sam and Dean, it was to hide these kinds of things.

So he wiped his hands down the thighs of his jeans and turned to look at Dean, smiling in a way he hoped didn’t show his uncertainty, and nodded over to one of the stacks of books. “Good. I think a couple more hours—”

“Take a break, huh?” Dean stopped him, and there was this look on Dean’s face that just warmed Cas further, made him momentarily forget all that he was worrying about, and simply smile easily back.

“I made you a sandwich,” Dean added, tilting his chin towards the door in invitation. Sam waved from the doorway and stepped in, his expression showing nothing of the words Cas had heard coming from his mouth just seconds before.

“I’ll take over for a bit,” Sam told him, clasping Cas firmly around the shoulder in thanks; clearly Sam didn’t have a problem with touching Cas like Dean did, Cas thought a little sulkily, then stopped himself.

Cas followed Dean out and went to wash up, glaring at himself in the mirror and forcing his feelings of fear away so that he could enjoy a moment of being alone with Dean. He returned to the kitchen to find Dean leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed hard across his chest and his face downturned, deep in thought.

When he heard Cas approach, Dean’s entire body language changed, and Cas let him usher him to the table where he put down a frankly huge sandwich in front of him, and started filling up a glass with the juice he had told Dean a few days ago he really liked the taste of.

Cas smiled in thanks, and carefully lifted one slice of the bread to see what was in the sandwich. There was bacon, lettuce, and tomato, and some kind of sauce that Cas thought looked delicious. The eating part of being human Cas could admit he was very, very fond of already.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Making one anyway,” Dean replied, gesturing at his own before lifting it to his mouth and taking a huge bite.

Cas smiled at him a little wider in affection. “What happened to salad being an, uh, abomination?” he teased, and it felt good that he could remember something small like this even though it contributed nothing.

Dean smiled around his sandwich, swallowed, took a sip of his own juice. “Don’t count when I make it. Or when it’s in stuff I like. ‘Sides,” he said, and paused long enough for Cas to also pause, fingers wrapped around the sandwich and ready to lift it. “It’s… you know. Important. For _you_. To… you know. Eat good stuff,”

That thought warmed Cas even further, that Dean was, as always, looking out, and after him, and it was enough for an involuntary huff to leave his lips as he finally picked up his sandwich and took an appreciative bite.

* * *

Rain.

A heavy, relentless hammering against sidewalks and street signs continued with no sign of letting up, where rivulets seemed in danger of becoming rivers in the deluge.

Cas had had an eternity to watch the rain, to appreciate the freshness that followed and that general feeling of being cleansed.

This rain was not like that.

There was a hint of sulphur that seemed to churn up thicker the harder the rain fell, and from behind windows and under store doorways peered eyes of obsidian from faces grim with intent.

Cas’ trenchcoat offered no protection, plastered uncomfortably against his skin along with everything else he wore, as icy droplets ran down his neck and added an extra tremor to his quaking.

And yet, he couldn’t move.

As though his feet were glued there to the spot where he was standing. As though some invisible force kept him from stepping forward, or stumbling back. Cas was paralyzed, pinned by the unknowable under the gaze of a thousand demons looking ready to strike out at him at any moment.

There was a clattering sound off to his side; Cas had just enough mobility to be able to turn his head slightly to see two figures stepping over broken glass and dented metal, boots crunching in the debris and sounding more ominous with every step they took closer to him.

Frantically, Cas’ heart began pounding. He didn’t want to admit what he was seeing as the figures became recognizable despite the menace in their stares.

Sam. And Dean. Although not Sam and Dean, because even in their cruelest of moments they had never looked at him like that. Nor had they peered at him through blackened eyes. Nor had they wounded him in this way, with the worst of his fears being realized about what would happen if he wasn’t in time to save them.

Demon.

With a final wicked grin Dean stepped forward, looming, and the face Cas had grown to love so much in secret was the one still smiling when he plunged a thick, serrated blade through Cas’ core.

Cas sat bolt upright with a gasp, a panicked untangling of his legs from the sheets as he struggled to stand almost had him crashing messily to the floor. Without thinking, Cas stumbled over and yanked the door of his room open, walking in time to the erratic beating of his heart as he came to an uncertain stop outside Dean"s door.

Cas paused, looking at the back of his hand curiously, half-surprised to find himself there out in the hallway mid-knock. But before he could step away again, a tremor coursed through him in a fresh memory of the dream, and his knuckles struck the wood before he could have second thoughts.

A mumble came from the other side of the door and was followed by what sounded like stumbling feet hitting the floor. Seconds later a bleary-eyed Dean was cracking the door open, and Cas watched as Dean instantly woke before him.

"Cas?" Dean rasped out, stepping back immediately and ushering him in before closing the door firmly behind him and heading back to the bed.

For lack of knowing what to do, Cas stood watching him awkwardly, as rooted to the spot as he had been in his dream.

"Cas?" Dean called out again, suddenly sitting more rigidly as he stared right back at him.

"I... I believe I had a nightmare," Cas told him softly, eyes falling to the floor in embarrassment.

But instead of the soft, teasing laugh Cas expected to hear, he heard Dean patting the side of the bed beside him, and a quiet, "Come here,"

With his legs seemingly working on autopilot, Cas found himself hovering uncertainly beside the bed, watching as Dean tapped the bed again, asking him to sit.

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean asked once Cas had lowered himself to sit stiffly back against the headboard.

"There... It would be pointless," Cas said as he shook his head. How could talking about one of his biggest fears change anything?

"Nothing’s pointless if it helps, right?" Was Dean’s counter, and Cas found himself looking at him scrutinizingly as though trying to find a hidden meaning to Dean’s words.

"You do not enjoy talking, Dean," Cas couldn't help his confused response, or that his confusion spiked further at the bittersweet twist to Dean's mouth then.

"Remember..." Dean began then immediately stopped, and an expression passed over his face momentarily that made Cas think he was in pain, before he coughed once, and continued. "Remember... Like... God, a lifetime ago now. You and me in a motel room, me tryna get you to talk. And you said about how if you went back to heaven you were afraid you might... You know. Kill yourself?"

Cas could remember that, so easily. From the concern on Dean's face, to his obvious discomfort, to the way Dean had just sat with him until Cas’ words came tumbling out unchecked. So he nodded, wishing desperately that he could interpret the look on Dean's face, or at least not be able to see the sadness there when he didn't know where it was coming from.

"Well. Since then... I mean you're right—talking and me ain't exactly—you know. But since then... Whenever you've needed it? I’ve tried to listen, Cas. And I’ll always listen, even if I don't like what you’re saying, alright? Even if it is at some ungodly hour of the morning,"

An inexplicable surge of sadness lapped through Cas then, and it must have shown on his face, because the next thing Cas knew was Dean shifting to sit closer to him with his hand reaching out as though he was torn between offering comfort and not wanting to intrude.

Cas sat completely still when Dean's fingers finally wrapped gently around his forearm, but then Cas found himself leaning into Dean's heat and pressing his shoulder back against Dean's shoulder, feeling relief there.

The silence that followed was surprisingly calm, with Cas finding Dean’s closeness soothing enough for his heart to steady, his head to lull, and his mind to need to stay alert enough to stop himself from getting too comfortable.

"I dreamt that everyone was demon. That you and Sam were demons. That I had failed you somehow, and that... That I... That I was alone in the world, Dean," Cas told him quietly, the answering harder press of Dean's shoulder against his doing even more to comfort him.

"Cas, you're not alone in anything, okay? And you've not... You haven't failed us at all. Fact is, we’d be pretty screwed without you so many times over. You know that, right?"

Cas closed his eyes and dropped his head back along the edge of the headboard with a tired sigh. "I wish... I wish I could believe that,"

"You're gonna have to, Cas. Just... Trust me okay?"

Dean's voice was imploring, and Cas found himself being stared at, hard, when he eventually opened his eyes again.

"I keep thinking that... I am waiting for... I expect that you are going to tell me that... That the reason I am here now. That the reason I am human... Is that I have done something very, very wrong, Dean. And though I know I must remember, I fear what will happen when I do remember. That you will—"

Cas’ sudden need to get out what had been playing on his mind was cut off by Dean twisting around and leaning in until there were no more than a couple of inches between their faces. Cas swallowed with difficulty at Dean's sudden closeness and found himself holding his breath.

"Cas," Dean began, with a catch in his voice that he swallowed away quickly, and pressed on, having captured Cas’ total attention. "You've gotta believe me. Nothing is wrong, okay? Aside from you not remembering the last year, there is absolutely nothing wrong at all. And you’ve done nothing wrong, okay? Nothing whatsoever."

"Then why can't I—"

"I don't know why you can't remember, Cas, honest I don’t. But just... Trust me, okay? There's nothing wrong. And it’ll all come back. It has to,"

There was a crack to Dean’s voice that sounded wistful, and longing, and Cas fought to keep his eyes from lingering over Dean's face, or staring too hard, or seeing things that he only wanted to be seeing instead of what was actually real.

"What... What if I don't remember?"

Cas watched another wave of hurt cross Dean's face for all of a second, then saw it replaced with a reassuring smile.

"You’ll remember, Cas. You will. And then you'll see. That there's absolutely nothing for you to be worrying about, OK? How ‘bout trying to get some sleep, huh?"

Cas took in the tiredness in Dean's eyes and felt instant guilt; his slow recovery was clearly draining for both Dean and Sam, and here he was, disturbing the small amount of peace Dean had for himself, just because of a nightmare that had faded with significance in waking.

"I am sorry to have woken you, Dean," Cas mumbled, moving to stand and leave. He was stopped from going anywhere by Dean's fingers wrapping firmly around his wrist, holding him in place.

"You... You can stay, Cas. If... If you think it'd help you sleep,"

Cas took in the way Dean's eyes fixed firmly on where he was gripping him instead of looking at his face for a reaction, and the way Dean chewed on his lower lip, and found himself swallowing thickly once more.

"I—I wouldn't want to disturb you, Dean," was the only reply he could give.

Dean sat staring back for a second then laughed softly, pulling back from Cas and making a show of getting himself settled beneath his duvet.

"You won"t be. Just... Stay, Cas. Get some sleep,"

Dean turned from Cas then, wriggling and getting comfortable on his pillow leaving Cas to debate with himself about what to do.

Feeling both out of place and welcome in the same moment, Cas lifted up the duvet and carefully climbed under, trying hard not to jostle Dean where he laid. He kept himself firmly to his side of the bed, both to not make Dean regret his invitation and to stop his traitorous thoughts from forcing him to reach out and face the rejection he knew to expect.

Despite feeling awkward laid beside Dean in the dark, listening to his soft breathing began to calm him, and before long Cas found himself relaxing and drifting off to sleep.

If Cas had managed to stay awake a little longer he would have felt Dean turn over, perhaps felt the dip of Dean propping himself up on his elbow against the mattress, and maybe even the way Dean stared at him long into the night.

* * *

 

  



	3. Chapter 3

As Cas felt himself more physically able, he found that his self-doubt was rebounding along with his strength in equal measure.

Instead of concentrating, as both Sam and Dean had suggested, on finding out about the things he liked for himself, his mind instead chose to play and replay every single event in his existence that Cas had come to view only as his failures.

Every battle where he'd made a difficult decision that had turned out badly. Every choice he had made that was meant to be for the greater good that had resulted in death, or loss of trust, or the exact opposite of his intention. Every time he felt he had let Dean and Sam down.  
  
Every moment with Sam, and especially Dean, began to feel torturous. Because he wanted, craved their company, but felt so wretched and full of guilt each time he was with them, that he wondered if it would be easier just to stay far away from them both.

It left Cas either retreating into himself and saying nothing, which made Sam and Dean worry and in turn made him feel guilty all over again, or snapping and lashing out at them with cruel words he only ever meant for himself, that they seemed endlessly forgiving for.

Cas couldn't understand how, after everything he had done, they could be so kind to him, so patient, and so completely understanding. He didn't deserve it, not any of it, and found himself constantly on edge, anticipating the moment they both gave up on him, knowing it was long overdue.

Cas found himself quickening to anger and frustration more often than he wasn’t, flaring up in what he knew were overreactions to the smallest things. Sam and Dean did not deserve his anger, he was more than well aware of that. But for every kindness they showed him, for every gesture of seemingly endless patience, Cas felt the stark contrast between their behavior and his own, and it fed the bitter cycle of projecting his inner anger out at them.

The largest source of Cas’ anger was what felt like his unrelenting sense of need for Dean.

Cas realized quickly that his efforts to monitor his every word and action with Dean were overwhelming. Surely want shouldn’t be this debilitating, so all-encompassing that every moment of Cas’ day was one that was preoccupied. He found himself backing away rapidly from Dean after forgetting himself and standing too close. He felt his cheeks flush constantly when Dean turned and caught him looking at him in ways Cas knew he really shouldn’t be doing. He failed to concentrate on half the things Sam told him at times when Dean was just out of his eyeline or he could hear him, because Dean’s presence, or absence, was a constant distraction for him.

And Dean didn’t help, not in the slightest, because all he ever did for Cas was help. He anticipated every single thing Cas needed before he had even thought it for himself, would go out of his way to try to make Cas happy, and he would take on additional tasks so that Cas wouldn’t have to.

Everything that was connected with Dean, Cas had begun to find so very, very infuriating.

The day when he broke, there had been nothing out of the ordinary to trigger it. He had woken to a soft knock on his door to find Dean standing awkwardly outside, cuffing the back of his neck in that way he had of doing when he was nervous, embarrassed, or feeling out of his depth. Cas cursed himself repeatedly for finding the gesture endearing, and this day proved no different.

Cas had trailed sleepily behind Dean to the kitchen to find coffee and a large stack of pancakes; a blush accompanied Dean's mumbled statement that he knew they were Cas' favourite. They'd sat and eaten, washed the dishes together, all in quiet, simple conversation before Dean had asked if he minded helping with the laundry.

Cas was left alone to his task, and Cas knew from the look on Dean's face that it was intentional because Cas so obviously wanted to be by himself. Sam joined him after an hour, quietly folding clothes and sheets beside him in silence and only giving the occasional comment that didn’t really need any reply to. Cas knew without any doubt that Dean had sent Sam in to check on him, and that kindness irked him enough to make his movements jerky and erratic.

After lunch, which Cas couldn't help but notice was more balanced, and much healthier than anything Dean would have prepared prior to Cas' falling, Cas accompanied Sam on a supply run in preparation for a hunt they were leaving for the next day. And by they, he meant Dean and Sam, because despite it being a supposedly easy job, Dean still insisted on Cas staying at the bunker, focusing his efforts on research rather than actual fighting.

The effect this had on Cas was twofold. Guilt and frustration that he was useless to them, or at least that Dean felt he was useless, and a constant state of worry that something might happen to either Sam and Dean, and he would be shown to be just as useless as he felt.

Cas had kept mostly quiet whilst out with Sam, offering small observations or opinions only when Sam asked for them, catching the concerned looks Sam kept shooting in his direction and feeling the sense of despair building.

Cas’ continual internal monologue grew louder and angrier in his mind. How could either of them be so very accepting of him? How could they trust him, to be in their home, to sleep beside them, to share in their lives as though he belonged there with them?

Cas couldn't understand any of it, and the smile Dean greeted him with when he and Sam returned with their arms full of all the things they needed was almost the final straw.

Dean reached out to take some of Cas' load and Cas jerked away from him hard, struggling and stumbling through to put down the bags of groceries he held—with Sam, of course, carrying the heavier things so he didn't have to—on to the kitchen table with a huff of exertion.

Wordlessly, Dean began helping him unpack, slotting boxes into cupboards and sliding packages into the fridge, and Cas again found Dean's constant understanding of his needs utterly infuriating.

"Stop helping, Dean," Cas surprised himself with the venom in his growl, but found his mood didn't calm at all.

"Hey. Team effort. We always—"

"I am more than capable of doing this alone, Dean. I am sure you have more important things to be doing than this," Cas found himself slamming cupboard doors and throwing things where they belonged with force, an irrational rage surging through him that seemed to snatch the packets and packaging from his fingers and rear its ugly head with noisy action.

Dean paused, hands comically gripping around a box of cereal tightly as he stared back at Cas’ banging and crashing escalating beside him.

"No one says you're not capable, Cas," And Dean's careful tone did nothing but anger Cas further.

"I see. I will remember that when I am pacing the halls here with nothing to do tomorrow when you and Sam go on your hunt that I am clearly not capable of handling,"

Frustration made Cas' words cutting, and his anger refused to let him react to the hurt on Dean's face other than to revel in it.

"I—You're just not ready is all, Cas. Couple more weeks when I know you're back up to full strength—"

"I will never be at 'full strength’, Dean," Cas' own self-doubt turned itself outwards, pointing the finger of blame for what he was feeling at anything and everything else but himself.

There was no reason to his argument; Cas knew himself he really wasn't ready, and that it wasn't Dean's fault that his choice of words stung so hard. But none of these things he said out loud, and Cas stood glaring at Dean as though it was in his power for him to fix everything for him.

"Cas," Dean sighed, turning from him and continuing to put the last of the groceries away. "Is it so bad I wanna make sure you're okay?"

"I do not need looking after, Dean. I—"

"Just... Just a little longer, Cas. I get that this must be frustrating as hell for you, but—"

"And you don't want the burden of me failing you in the middle of a hunt," The petulance in Cas' voice was enough to make even himself wince, and he turned sharply from Dean to hide his embarrassment at his own behavior.

"Fail? Cas, when have you ever failed me?" Dean's perplexed look back at him was more than Cas could stand, even if Cas couldn’t bring himself to observe it other than out of the corner of his eye.

"Multiple times, Dean. Multiple times. I should not even be here, I am asking too much of you having me here,"

"No,"

Cas tried and failed to keep his expression neutral as Dean quickly crossed the room to stand directly in front of him with concern written all over his face.

"You need to calm down, Cas,"

For a moment Cas was puzzled by Dean's words, then his mind caught up with him enough to notice how his breath was labored and his heart was racing uncomfortably.

"I am calm," he bit out anyway, the uncomfortable bruised feeling growing in his chest screaming at him in contradiction.

"Cas,"

"Stop being so considerate, Dean. I do not deserve it,"

Dean's hand was out and lightly gripping Cas' shoulder in an instant; Cas hated the way his body seemed to lean into Dean's touch, seeking the comfort, and he wrenched himself away with force, taking an exaggerated step back from him.

"You do deserve it, Cas. All of it. You're... I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but all this crap about you failing—"

“But I have failed you. And I will always fail you. How can you possibly ever begin to trust me without question?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed in obvious confusion. “I—it wasn't beginning anything, Cas. I already do. I do trust you. With everything. With all that I have.”

Cas stared back expressionless at Dean for what felt like forever, then gave the smallest shake of his head; he had to leave, and now, before he said or did something he wouldn’t be able to take back.

“I am sorry, Dean. But you are wrong.”

Dean was helpless but to watch in silence as Cas turned and walked away from him, leaving a feeling like he had taken the oxygen out of the room with him.

Cas couldn't even bring himself to look back.

* * *

"Can I sit?"

Cas clenched his teeth, taking in the familiar sight of boots and jean-clad legs hovering uncertainly in front of him and sat heavily against the back of the park bench with a hard sigh.

"How did you know to find me here?" Cas asked, purposely not answering Dean's question. Dean sat beside him anyway, keeping a good gap between them as he did, his hands falling awkwardly between his thighs as he stared down at the gravel between his feet.

"Lucky guess," Dean told him, and Cas glimpsed over discreetly at the way Dean stared off into the distance. "Before. Before you fell, you used to come here. Said you liked how peaceful it was but that you got to see a bit of life from time to time as well, when people came through running or walking their dog, or whatever."

"It is good to know that my instincts still remember these things if I myself cannot," Cas retorted, though truly feeling strangely comforted that his mind had led him here unconsciously as though the missing part of him was still in there inside him somewhere.

"So what's going on with you?" Dean asked, carefully not commenting on Cas words, and even more carefully avoiding looking at him directly.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right," Dean snorted, and Cas saw him shaking his head. "So why're you acting like some sullen, snarky teen today, huh? Just felt like it?"

Instantly contrite, Cas turned to give an apology but was cut off by a wave of Dean's hand. "Don't need to hear you say you're sorry, Cas. To be honest, you've been saying sorry enough these past few weeks to last both our lifetimes. I just... I wanna know what's going on. Maybe I can help,"

"Help," Cas bit back, rolling his eyes, missing the hurt look on Dean's face.

"I mean. I know I can't ever really understand what... What you're going through. Falling and everything. But that don't mean—"

"All you appear to be doing of late is helping, Dean. You and Sam. I will never be able to repay you for—"

"We're _family_ , Cas." Dean's interruption was soft, but it didn't leave any room for Cas to disagree. When Dean seemed sure that Cas wasn't going to try he nodded to himself and carried on. "We're… this isn't anything we would do if you weren't family, you know? We... We look out for each other. You, me, Sam—"

"But I do nothing, Dean," Cas barked back, his frustration lancing through his tone and in the rigid way he sat. "I don't help either of you at all. I—"

"Cas," And Cas watched as Dean reached out a hesitant hand that first he appeared to want to rest on his thigh, but then awkwardly shifted and laid on his shoulder instead. "You are helping. You are. You do all this stuff around the bunker, and you help us research, and—"

"But that is all I do, Dean," And Cas was unable to keep his voice from raising.

"If this is about you going on hunts—"

"It isn't! I... It is... I..." Cas let his hands fall heavily to his lap and stared out over the park, adamantly not looking at Dean.

"Please tell me what's going on, Cas,"

The gentleness of Dean's voice had Cas turning back to him reluctantly, and instantly hating the sadness he saw there when he looked at Dean's face.

"I... I am remembering things, Dean."

Cas watched as Dean's face paled and his shoulders set as though tensing against being struck.

"What things, Cas?"

Cas studied him for a moment, feeling very confused by Dean's reaction and the hesitance in his tone. "I remember that... I seem to have... Do you know how many mistakes I have made in my lifetime, Dean? How many terrible things I am responsible for?"

"I—"

"I have watched cities fall, entire civilizations collapse, and more animals become extinct than I have seen come into existence, Dean. Perhaps I was not the sole cause of all of these things—although I am for some. But my inaction. My passiveness. I have allowed so much to happen that I could have changed."

Dean nodded, and Cas saw the small frown that creased his forehead at his statement.

"There is so much I could have done differently, Dean. So many wrong choices. So much—"

"Ever think you're too hard on yourself, Cas?" Dean interrupted, and Cas was surprised to find the heat of Dean's palm still against his shoulder.

"I have done much to you, Dean. And Sam. Or not done enough. I have caused you both so much pain. Such difficulty," Cas found his eyes stinging and his throat thickening, and cursed himself for the constant barrage of emotions that seemed to permanently course through him.

"Cas—"

"I have done much to you both that is unforgivable. Yet you both take such... Care of me, that I... It's... It's overwhelming, Dean," The last of Cas' words tumbled out of him in a teary outburst, and Cas felt weak all over again as unwanted tears hit his cheeks.

"Cas," Dean tried again, turning slightly until his knee was pressed into Cas' leg. "Cas, you've gotta... You know we've done some pretty shitty things to you too, right?"

"Incomparable," Cas argued back, wincing at the way his voice cracked.

"'Course it isn’t, Cas. And you know what? We've... We've all made mistakes, you know? But we forgave each other a long, long time ago now, Cas. It's all in the past. It's—"

"How can you forgive me for all I have done, when all I do is take from you?" The exasperation in Cas' voice made him anger all the more at himself. How could he possibly make Dean understand the sheer uselessness that he felt?

"Cas,"

"I have nothing to give you in return. And I have told you, many times before, that I cannot help but think that... That you are keeping something from me, Dean. That... That I did something to fall, to deserve this punishment, that—"

"I'm sorry humanity's such a _punishment_ for you, Cas," There was a sudden bitterness to Dean's reply, and hurt, and Cas felt guilty all over again to see Dean apparently struggling to compose himself beside him.

"I did not mean—"

"S'fine, Cas. I get it. Being human must seem like... I guess like such a let down after everything, you know? I get it,"

The sadness Cas felt as Dean pulled away from him and firmly kept his eyes elsewhere was unbearable but there was little he could do to undo or take back his words.

"Dean—"

But Dean was standing, the mood instantly shifted and a heavy feeling that something was irreparable between them. To Cas’ surprise, Dean didn’t storm off out sight as he expected him to, but instead just stood, still clenching his fists by his side, and before Cas could move himself Dean was mumbling, "This changes nothing, Cas."

Cas held his breath, uncertain of Dean’s meaning.

Dean glanced down at Cas once before nodding. "This... All this guilt you're feeling? All of it's pointless. We forgave you a long time ago—especially as so much of what you did was trying to help us in the first place. And... I'm really, really sorry you're finding all of this so hard, you know? I wish I could make it easier, but I can't, Cas, I can't. I just..."

When Dean's words came to a halt, Cas chanced a glance up at his face and was horrified to find so much pain there. A small voice reminded Cas that there always seemed to be pain on Dean’s face lately, and that more often than not he was the one that appeared to be putting it there. Cas carefully pushed the thought to one side, knowing it would resurface and taunt him again later.

"I... This changes nothing, Cas,” Dean continued, oblivious to Cas’ internal barrage of thoughts. “The bunker... It's always gonna be your home. We... Me and Sam... We'll always be there, Cas, we're... We're your family, okay? And maybe that's not much compensation for losing all you were but... It's all we got,"

Dean smiled at Cas then, and Cas' heart ached at how watery that smile was, how bright Dean's eyes were, how his own words had been the thing to cause both of those things.

"Whether you want me—us, Cas. Me and Sam. Or not. We're... We're always gonna be here, okay? I wish we could give you more, but—"

"Dean—"

"I—I didn't mean to intrude, Cas. I'll... I'll leave you in peace, okay? Just... Please... Come home when you're ready? I'll... Fix you a plate. For if you're hungry when you get back,"

Before Cas had the chance to respond, or object, Dean was pacing away from him, and Cas couldn't help notice the dejected set of his shoulders as he went.  He slumped back against the park bench once more and sighed to himself, looking up at the huge, sprawling tree in front of him as though for guidance, then closed his eyes.

* * *

The text of the book he was reading blurred in front of Dean’s eyes again and he shoved it back away from him across the table, having read the first line of it at least seven times without being able to move on.

Dean let himself sink down into his chair, wiping his hands tiredly across his face as he stared up at the ceiling and folded his arms tightly across his chest. Cas’ words played on repeat for him; the word _punishment_ in particular sending jagged stabs into his heart. He’d pushed the thoughts away for as long as possible, reciting lore, and lyrics, and everything he could to distract himself until he had no choice but to succumb.

Cas didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be human. He didn’t want this life of theirs at all.

How could he ever move forward, or come to terms with this, or have any sense of being even the slightest bit okay, when every part of him screamed in protest, every fibre resisted this reality, and every inch of him ached for Cas so thoroughly that there seemed no way to ever even breathe anymore?

With a curse under his breath Dean forced himself to his feet, grumbling his way to the kitchen. His eyes fell on the plate he’d fixed, as promised, for Cas, feeling as though it was taunting him by the fact it still remained uneaten.

Dean glanced at his watch, his frown at how late it was creasing his face and setting off the urge to go and look for Cas himself. But Cas’ reactions came back to him with a whisper of cruelty and wiped that thought clean away; Dean knew his attentions wouldn’t be accepted no matter how well-intentioned they were.

Dean leaned back against the counter, drumming his fingers along its surface as he berated himself. Were his intentions really that well-intended? Was he doing all of these things, being so helpful, so understanding with Cas, because he wanted to help Cas, or because he himself was desperately clinging to the hope of getting the old Cas back?

Guilt at his own selfishness surged through Dean then, a flash of anger at having lost what felt like the only good thing in his life. This wasn’t Cas’ fault, this wasn’t anybody’s fault. He’d promised himself he’d be patient, that he’d give Cas all he needed, and he’d help even if Cas repeatedly pushed him away. And that was what he would do, no matter how hard it was, or how long it took.

With a heavy sigh Dean turned, bent to the fridge, opened a bottle of beer and took a long slug of it with a grimace. When Cas was mad at him, everything lost its taste, and he may as well have been drinking days old milk for all he could taste of his beer.

With a sigh of frustration, Dean clattered the bottle noisily to the side, slumping back there once again with a groan.

It would be worth it. When this was all over and Cas remembered everything, all of this heartache would be worth it. Dean just had to force himself through it, get to the other side, keep a smile on his face that he didn’t feel and an optimism in his gut that taunted him more than it did bolster him. But it would be worth it.

Dean just had to keep reminding himself of that.

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

"I... I can't do it anymore, Sam,"

The sound of Dean’s broken voice froze Cas in place just outside the doorway of the garage, with the peace offering that was a plate of sandwiches and two cups of coffee growing suddenly heavy in his hands.

He stopped, holding his breath, straining to hear, waiting for Dean to speak again.  
  
"I can't," Dean repeated, and Cas' heart ached at the pain in Dean's voice, both desperate and scared to know the cause of it.  
  
"Dean. Dean…You said it yourself. _He_ said. We kinda have to,"

At the soft reply Sam gave, Cas silently put both the plate and cups down on the floor, and leaned in a little further still to listen. Over the hood of one of the cars he could see Dean leaning back against the Impala, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as his face was turned up toward the garage ceiling and avoiding Sam's. Sam's stance spoke of concern, and wanting to comfort, and if there had ever been a moment in the last few months when he had felt less out of place, Cas couldn't remember it.

To think of how often he’d sought Dean out in the night when his fears got the better of him. To think of the unfair anger he constantly threw at Dean for no good reason at all just added to the level of guilt that rushed through Cas as he stood helplessly and listened in silence.

"It's... I can't even begin to understand what you're going through, Dean. Honestly. It must... It must be hell,"  
  
"I feel like I'm breaking,"  
  
The wounded, tortured, out of character confession spilling from Dean's lips had Cas yearning to step forward, to comfort Dean himself, even if he didn't know what for. Even if he didn't know how.  
  
"I feel like... I feel like I'm... I'm in a living nightmare, Sam. Like... I... Like I'm back on the rack being tortured again, only this time it's... It's..."  
  
The way Dean's words collapsed into tears was painful for Cas to hear, but witnessing Sam almost scoop Dean up in his arms as he crumpled, and the way Dean just clung on to him for support was almost like torture for Cas himself.  
  
What kind of a friend was he, to concentrate only on his own problems, to be so totally oblivious to the trauma that Dean was clearly going through? How could he take so much of Dean—and Sam's time—when clearly they had bigger things to think about than a former angel too stupid to even know how he'd ended up human?

How could he continue to take out his frustration at himself on them, when clearly he had been so selfish that he had missed that Dean was suffering with something that he was too cold, too useless to have noticed for himself?  
  
"How much longer's it gonna take, huh? 'Cos honestly... I don't know if I can anymore, Sam. I'm just... I just miss—"

The anguish Dean spoke with felt like talons digging in to Cas from a distance. Cas closed his eyes, listening to the placating sounds Sam made as Dean’s breath came out hard and ragged, and Cas cursed at himself all over again.

"Dean. We... We have to wait, okay? This... This isn't something you can just blurt out and not have to deal with a whole load of consequences we don't know anything about. I... This... I can't imagine, Dean, but you know... We've got to,"  
  
Cas heard Dean mumble something else out into Sam's shoulder in response and it was followed by a soft laugh from Sam. Cas watched discreetly as Sam rubbed awkward circles into Dean's back, and Dean's fists clenched so tightly to the back of Sam's jacket that Cas knew there'd be creases there after. Then Dean was pushing himself away again, roughly wiping a hand over his face, and turning away back to where he was working on the car.  
  
Cas could see the way Sam was watching Dean worriedly, feeling helpless and so out of his depth that he fought the urge to rush over to them and demand an explanation. But he was in no position to be demanding anything from them, Cas firmly told himself, not when they had done so much for him to restore him to his health, and he’d acted so very ungratefully.  
  
With another curse under his breath, Cas bent down to pick up the plate and cups again, making a point of making a noisy entrance to let them know he was coming in. If whatever was wrong was too much for him to handle, or just something that Dean didn't feel confident sharing with him, there was little Cas could do about it currently. Cas knew he had earned that silence from Dean, and that he would have to accept it, no matter how bitter it left him feeling.  
  
Sure enough, Sam's face was nothing but neutral, and Dean's back was firmly to him by the time Cas reached the pair of them beside the Impala.  
  
"I made lunch," he mumbled, idly wondering how awkward he must look to them. "I apologize Sam. I didn't know you were down here,"  
  
Sam smiled, shrugging. "S'ok, Cas. I was gonna head out for a bit anyway. You gonna keep Dean company?"  
  
Cas nodded, watching as Dean slowly stood back up from where he'd been bent over the car. Despite Dean's best efforts to look as though everything was normal, Cas could see the redness around his eyes and the general brightness there along with the stoop of his shoulders. But there was nothing he could say.  
  
"That was my intention," Cas told Sam instead, passing Dean a coffee and holding out the plate for him to take a sandwich.  
  
Mumbled goodbyes to Sam followed, and Dean immediately began explaining parts of the engine to Cas around his mouthful of sandwich, an action Cas remembered witnessing countless times in the past.  
  
And he couldn't stop himself.  
  
"Is... Is everything okay, Dean?" Cas kept his tone soft, his waiting patient, his eyes firmly on the side of Dean's face.  
  
For a few moments Cas continued watching as Dean chewed in silence, then saw him swallow and smile shakily, and give him a short nod as his eyes flitted to Cas’ for the briefest of moments.  
  
With an equally brief clap on Cas' shoulder Dean was turning away again, looking back down at the Impala and giving it his full attention.  
  
"'Course it is, Cas. Everything's good,"

Cas continued to stare at him as Dean focused purely on the engine, finding himself without any kind of appetite at all.

“I… I apologize, Dean. For… I am sorry that my… frustration for all of _this_ … I apologize that I have taken it out on you,”

Cas watched as Dean paused, head bent over the engine with his fingers gripping tightly to the tool and cloth in his hands.

With the quickest flashes of a smile in Cas’ direction, Dean answered, “Don’t worry about it,” and continued with his work as though Cas wasn’t even there.

Cas continued to watch him, doing nothing but worry.

* * *

"There used to be a photo here,"

Cas stood, tapping his fingers on the surface of the cabinet beside Dean's bed and looked over at him expectantly. Dean paused from putting away the laundry Cas had just brought him and nodded slowly, looking as though he was buying himself some time.  
  
"There was,"  
  
Cas didn't miss the cautious note in Dean's voice and turned a little to face him. "I believe it was a picture of you and your mother,"  
  
Dean's shoulders dropped infinitesimally but Cas didn’t miss it, and continued watching Dean as he nodded and turned back to the task in hand.  
  
"Right," Was all he said, leaving Cas standing there awkwardly.

A week had passed since Dean’s brief breakdown in the garage that neither one of them had mentioned. A week where neither of them had particularly slept, and had stepped around one another awkwardly with a half-apology never far from Cas’ lips and forgiveness always on Dean’s. A week of hesitant smiles, constant confusion, and both of them feeling as though they were dancing on a knife’s edge with their words.

Cas still had no clue as to what was troubling Dean, still not able to work up the courage to really ask. So to add to all of the anger he directed at himself was his unjustly indignant frustration at being kept in the dark about that as well. To prevent the biting, unkind, unmeant retorts that seemed to just trip off of his tongue was a continual battle; Cas found himself forcing a moment to pause now before he commented bitterly on Dean’s obvious disappointment at his memory.

"Where is the photo now?"  
  
"Out in the bunker,"  
  
Cas watched as Dean hung his clothes on hangers, adding them one by one to his closet with fluid movements that Cas could never quite replicate so neatly himself. Without intending to look, something caught his attention and Cas walked up beside Dean, watching silently as he worked.  
  
Dean glanced to his side briefly, closing one of the doors closest to Cas as he hung up another shirt and smoothed it down.  
  
"Why do you have my angel blade in your closet, Dean?"  
  
Dean stopped perfectly still, and Cas saw him glance up at the shelf inside the closet where he himself was focusing his attention.  
  
"Uh... I... Guess I forgot it was in here," Dean mumbled, reaching up and sliding the blade out, handing it to Cas.  
  
The coolness of the blade against his palm was unsettling to Cas, disliking the lack of connection he felt with the inanimate object he now held. "I no longer have use for this,"  
  
Something must have been in the tone Cas spoke in, because Dean looked over at him worriedly and half-reached out a reassuring hand. He stopped as Cas reached past him with a deep frown, tugging at the material the blade had been under. A wallet fell to the floor with a whisper of a thud and they both looked down at it at the same time as Cas' fingers grasped firmly around the fabric of his trenchcoat as it tumbled out.  
  
"Why do you have these?" Cas asked, stooping to pick up the wallet as Dean did the same.  
  
"Just... Figured you'd not wanna see 'em right now. In case they reminded you of—"  
  
"You did not consider that they might help me to remember?" Cas bit back, finding himself flushing with his usual anger and as was typical, not really understanding why.  
  
"Thought we agreed to let you remember stuff in your own time?"  
  
Dean's gentleness only served to make Cas more angry and he scowled at Dean in confusion, feeling his blood surge with rage.  
  
"That may be the case. But it still does not explain why these are in your room—in your closet, Dean. You are hiding something from me. I know you are,"  
  
Cas' suspicion piqued as Dean blanched, his eyes fixed on Dean's hand where it clutched tightly around the wallet.  
  
"Cas—"  
  
"Give it to me," Cas' voice was low, dangerous, and he felt an odd sense of satisfaction at the way Dean swallowed awkwardly as a result. He extended his hand, glaring, unflinching as Dean hesitantly held out his own hand, dropping the wallet onto Cas' open palm.  
  
Cas' fingers curled around the familiar leather, and he felt comforted at this memory even though it was only small. Folding the wallet out slowly, Cas felt his own hesitance, as though perhaps there really was a reason for Dean to want to keep it from him.  
  
Fingertips smoothed over a worn photo of himself with Dean and Sam, touched a driver's license, credit cards, a small stack of receipts stuffed in the back. Cas found himself disappointed, and embarrassed at his unnecessary outburst because there was absolutely nothing there that revealed anything to him at all.  
  
Dean's face took on that expression Cas had come to recognize as nervous, as though he was holding his breath waiting for Cas' response.  
  
Cas bit back the apology he was planning and instead continued scowling, feeling so very, very wronged.  
  
"Is there anything else of mine that you are keeping from me?"  
  
Dean's head shake was slow, and measured, and Cas chose not to see the wounded expression there. Without another word he turned sharply on his heel and left Dean standing awkwardly watching him go.  


* * *

Cas' mood was still simmering seething a few hours later; Dean had gone out without so much as a word, and Cas knew he was responsible for that. As the guilt gnawed away at him, Cas worked himself up into an even worse temper, cleaning weapons and checking on supplies with curses under his breath, slamming down of tools on surfaces, and generally giving off enough angry energy for Sam to call him out on it.  
  
"Nothing is wrong," he mumbled in response to Sam's question, furiously cleaning out the barrel of a gun as though everything depended on it.  
  
Sam snorted beside him, slumping into a chair and watching Cas' hands as they worked. "Wanna try that one again? Without breaking something?"  
  
Cas took a moment to pause and glare at him indignantly, then carried on. "It is nothing,"  
  
"Right,” Sam laughed again. “That's why you look like you're about to smite me,"  
  
"I no longer have that ability, Sam,"  
  
"Doesn't mean you don't look like you want to. So? What's going on?"  
  
Exasperated, Cas dropped the gun down heavily on to the bench, leaning over it with a grimace. "My lack of memory is... Frustrating," He settled on, and it was a truth, and part of the problem, but barely skimmed the surface of his mood.  
  
"I can't even imagine what that's like, Cas. I'm sorry you're going through it. You know I am. But there’s clearly a lot more to this than just that, right?"  
  
Sam's sympathy stirred up even more guilt, and not trusting himself to speak without saying something unkind, Cas just hummed in agreement, avoiding Sam’s gaze.  
  
"Wanna tell me what you said to Dean that made him walk out of here like he'd been kicked in the gut?"  
  
Cas looked down at Sam sharply, frozen by the expression on Sam's face. It said _I’m trying to understand_ , and _I know this is hard for you_. But what it said more than anything was _do not take this out on my brother_. Dean might be the one to play the big brother card in almost every situation he felt was necessary, and a few that he knew really weren’t, but the protectiveness radiating off of Sam now brokered no room for discussion.  
  
Contrite, and silenced by his own remorse, Cas could do little but stare back and await whatever words Sam would rightfully throw at him.  
  
"I know this is hard, Cas. I get it. But... You have to... You need to understand it's hard for De—it's hard for us too. Especially Dean. He... He feels responsible, you know? And he takes on responsibility for everything, and every time you snap at him it makes him feel guilty all over again. And this is no one's fault this has happened to you, Cas, not yours, or mine—and especially not Dean's. So cut him some slack, alright?"  
  
Cas nodded miserably, shuffling uncomfortably where he stood. "I am sorry, S—"  
  
"Don't apologize to me, Cas," Sam told him firmly, his expression not softening at all until Cas' shoulders dropped and he nodded once again.  
  
When he appeared satisfied that Cas had got the message, Sam gave him a small smile, nodding himself. "So. Something you wanna talk about?"  
  
Cas sighed hard, slumping down onto a chair beside Sam. "I would not know where to start, Sam. I feel as though I am... 'Missing the punchline of a joke',"  
  
With a wince that spoke of his sympathy, Sam reached over to clasp Cas' shoulder in reassurance. "There's no joke here, Cas. We're doing everything we can to make this easier for you. I hope you know that,"  
  
"You're doing more than that," Cas groaned, wiping a hand across his face in defeat. "Some days I feel nothing more than the baby in a trenchcoat Dean used to call me when I lost my powers temporarily. I feel _useless_ , Sam."

Cas refrained from adding to Sam that so much of his frustration was due to his constant barrage of feelings and want for his brother, thinking that the half story was enough to satisfy Sam’s question.

"Clearly you're not useless, Cas," Sam retorted, oblivious, nodding over at the pile of weapons Cas was working through. "Just 'cos you can't do the stuff you used to do doesn't make you useless, Cas. Not at all,"  
  
"But I feel it, Sam," Cas told him with a sudden surge of urgency. "I cannot help you, and I take so much from you both. I... Keep expecting that I will be asked to leave, Sam," and Cas groaned inwardly at how one of his biggest fears had slipped so easily from his mouth.  
  
Sam's eyebrows raised; in any other situation, Cas might have found the expression funny. "Leave? Leave where? Here?"  
  
When Cas could only nod in reply, Sam gave out a disbelieving laugh. "Uh... As I'm sure Dean's told you countless times, Cas. This is your home. You only leave here of your own free will. Not that you can leave," and Sam's eyes grew wide again, worried this time.  
  
"I mean," he stumbled, as though struggling for the right words. "Not that you _can’t_ leave. But that we don't want you to leave. You know that, right? We're your family, and there's never gonna be anything that changes that. Not even this constant funky mood you’re in of late," Sam added, smiling at him in mild amusement.  
  
Cas felt a lump form in his throat at Sam's words; he found himself slumping softly and a sense of calm washing over him, finally dampening down that raging anger he had been feeling for most of the day.  
  
With another clasp of Cas' shoulder Sam stood and stretched, cracking his neck from side to side as he yawned. "Got a couple of things I wanna do. Catch you later?"  
  
Cas nodded again, mumbling a humble, "Thank you," which earned him a small smile.  
  
Cas watched as Sam walked away from him, and as he paused in the doorway, glancing back with a thoughtful look on his face.  
  
"Go easy on Dean, okay? He's... He's really struggling with... With some stuff,"  
  
Cas' anger was extinguished entirely then at the reminder of Dean having difficulties that he still didn’t know about. "What stuff?"  
  
"Just..." And Cas could only feel bewildered as Sam cast an eye over him then closed his eyes with a drop of his shoulders. "Just... Go easy on him. Okay?"  
  
Cas watched Sam finally leave the room, a question on his lips and his mind desperately trying searching for clues, his frustration at everything around him forgotten as it always was when he worried about Dean.  


* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

Stillness.

That was the first word that came to mind for Cas as he woke, and for a disoriented moment he forgot where he was.

A light rustling of sheets beside him and Cas was instantly reminded. In what was starting to feel like need, and habit, Cas had found himself lying awake in his room until he could reason with himself no more, then stumbling along to Dean's in the middle of the night. Each time, he watched as Dean threw back the duvet without comment, then climbed in beside him, instantly falling asleep.

It was already too familiar, with a sense of coming home, and Cas knew he had to stop relying on the comfort of Dean beside him to help him sleep.

But in that moment right then, Cas couldn't bring himself to care.

After Sam’s admittedly gentle lecture about not taking things out on Dean, Cas had forced himself to behave differently, despite how difficult it had been for him. Instead of bristling against every kindness that Dean showed him, and every demonstration of his concern, Cas had instead been grateful, making simple conversation with him and trying as much as possible to get back to the easy way they used to be with each other, before all of this had happened.

It had been worth it to see the way that Dean’s constant tension around him had started to lessen, yet so much harder for Cas to control that surging _want_ he felt whenever in Dean’s presence. But he kept it under control, bit back retorts and resigned himself to the constant unrequited _aching_ he felt.

The reward outweighed the awkwardness, Cas told himself repeatedly, trying to be content enough just to see a happier Dean.

Cas sighed again into the silence of the room, wishing he could allow himself a moment to enjoy the comfort of Dean beside him despite it never feeling like quite enough. He laid on his back, carefully staying on his side of the bed, but Dean had turned in the night and was facing him, his leg pressed against Cas' and his fist lightly bunching up Cas' t-shirt in his hand.

Dean's thumb had found its way beneath the t-shirt and in his sleep, Dean was tracing gentle circles on Cas' stomach, a feeling that was both soothing and made Cas hold his breath. With every sweep of Dean's thumb Cas became more painfully aware of how close Dean's hand was to discovering just how aroused Cas was becoming by his closeness.

It didn't help that Dean appeared to be shuffling ever closer to him, the length of his body pressing flush against Cas' side. Cas clearly wasn't the only one aroused; an insistent pressing against Cas' hip told him Dean was probably dreaming of someone in ways that Cas would most definitely welcome exploring with Dean himself. That thought hurt, even though Cas fought against it because it was something he knew Dean could never give him. Cas chided himself for his selfishness in wanting Dean, knowing that Dean already gave him too much with everything he did for him, and especially after the way things had been between them of late.

Dean mumbled against Cas' shoulder incoherently and Cas froze, first at the feel of lips pressing light kisses to his shoulder, and then at the way Dean's entire palm suddenly slipped beneath his t-shirt and splayed there across Cas' skin as though he was making a claim.

Cas gasped, torn between wanting to feel more of Dean on him, and being terrified of Dean's reaction when he woke. Because no matter how much Cas had thought about waking up with Dean like this, never could he imagine that Dean would let him, or even want the same.

Sighing out shakily, Cas reached down and wrapped his fingers around Dean's wrist, pulling his hand away and instantly missing the feel of heat on his skin.

Feeling so very awkward, Cas managed to shuffle back away from Dean, turning as he did so that he was on his side.

Dean woke at the movement, blinking sleepily until his eyes focused and was somehow still reaching out to press his fingers against Cas' chest. Cas held his breath again, keeping perfectly still, waiting for Dean to realize the mistaken identity he was making. He watched as Dean grew rigid, eyes flaring wide, slowly withdrawing his fingers until they were instead resting at an uncomfortable angle against the bed.

"Sorry, Cas," Dean sighed, rolling on to his back and closing his eyes again. Cas berated his instinct of wanting to follow him, to curl up against him and wrap an arm around Dean's waist, bury himself against Dean’s chest. The urge was too much, and to fight it Cas forced himself to get out of bed, even though all of his senses screamed at him to do the exact opposite.

This was his fault; if he hadn't sought Dean out in his weakness, he wouldn't have to make this awkward exit, to see the strange look of what was no doubt disgust in Dean's eyes as he watched him from where he laid in silence. He’d made things difficult for Dean all over again, even when he was trying to make it better. Cas wondered to himself in that moment if there would ever be a point in his life when he didn’t feel like he had failed in some way.

"I apologize, Dean. I will not intrude again,"

"Cas,"

Cas paused at the urgency in Dean's voice, turning at the sound of Dean moving and finding him sitting up, watching him.

"I didn't, uh... I didn't do anything to... Um... Did I do something I shouldn't have?"

Dean’s clear discomfort had Cas’ heart sinking. He wanted to say no, to say how much he longed for Dean to keep going with the gentle way he had been stroking him, to continue to give him comfort. To tell him that he wished whoever Dean had been dreaming about that made him react the way he had, how much he wished it was him in Dean’s thoughts instead.

But he couldn't say any of that, because he couldn't want any of that. So instead he shook his head lightly and shrugged, feigning indifference.

"You did nothing wrong, Dean. I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable,"

"No, Cas. You didn't—you haven't... I—"

"I believe it is my turn to prepare breakfast'," Cas cut him off, eyes firmly staring at the floor.

"Cas—"

"It will not take long," Cas pressed on, forcing himself out of the room before he could do any more damage.

* * *

 

Humanity, Cas reflected, was nothing but a frantic tangle of damage limitation.

Cas’ feelings around Dean had narrowed down to just two emotions. Anger, at every little thing Dean did to help, every time he showed he cared, every action he took that was done purely for Cas’ benefit. And longing, wanting Dean so much that he found himself staring ever harder, eyes lingering over Dean in ways they shouldn’t be, a constant undercurrent of need that felt like a physical ache whenever he was anywhere near Dean.

When he tried to curb his anger Cas found his feelings for Dean overwhelming. When he attempted to dampen down his feelings, the anger flared through Cas as though it was a flame that could never be extinguished.

As a result, the awkwardness between Dean and Cas grew, with Cas taking to avoiding Dean at every opportunity, silently stalking in the night to find the plates of food Dean left out for him and listening through the crack in his open door to be sure that Dean had definitely left the bunker.

It hurt Cas to stay away from Dean, and left him feeling foolish, infantile, for avoiding him the way he did. But every time he tried to act normally around Dean he did or said something that just seemed to line further worry or hurt on Dean’s face, and Cas hated being the source of all that pain. This wasn’t the best option, it certainly was no long term solution, but for now, until he could come up with another way, this was all Cas could think of doing.

There were enough spaces in the bunker for Cas to slip quietly out of the way of Dean, and as much as possible, even Sam. And with nothing much else to do, there were more than enough hours in the day for Cas to still be doing enough to feel he was contributing in some way, leaving notes for Sam on the bunker’s tables giving details of the work he had completed whilst they had been away, or asleep.

Sam’s looks of disappointment, and even anger at him sometimes, just added to Cas’ overall sense of unease and self-doubt. But if he’d learned anything from all of his time with the Winchesters, it was avoiding talking when it was one of the most important things they could be doing. A breaking point was coming; but Cas would avoid that moment for as long as he possibly could.

* * *

On a clear evening that was cool relief following the long heat of the day, Cas found himself staring up at the night sky surrounded by the scent of flowers. The bunker’s roof had become his refuge, and if Dean was to be believed, it was a place he had continued to seek out for solace even back before he had fallen.

Cas rolled his shoulders, sighing as a breeze brushed over the back of his neck and the exposed skin of his forearms from where he’d rolled his shirt sleeves up earlier. He glanced up at the pinpricks of stars, then across the landscape that had become his home in more ways than one, and allowed himself to breathe deep.

Today had been a long day, one that seeped weariness into his bones from Sam’s rigid program of exercise that they had all agreed on in order for Cas to return to hunting with them. The push and pull of air from his lungs, the alertness that fired through his synapses, the way his muscles and ligaments lengthened and shortened under pressure. All these feelings and reactions that breathed acceptance into his humanity and had settled on him before Cas had ever realized it had happened.

Another chill blast of air and Cas was rolling down his sleeves, stretching his arms up and enjoying the ache in his body with a sense of satisfaction. The night was quiet except for the small sounds of life off in the distance, and for what felt like the first time in a very long time, Cas allowed himself to feel at peace.

“Sam said you’re ready,”

That feeling of peace evaporated instantly with the sound of Dean’s voice behind him; Cas felt calm replaced with tension as he clenched his fists and turned around slowly on his heel. Dean was watching him without expression, the set of his shoulders against the cold the only indication of how long Dean had possibly been standing there watching him.

“I feel ready,” Cas agreed, carefully waiting for Dean’s reaction but receiving nothing more than a short nod.

“Then next hunt?” Dean said, shrugging as though his words were unimportant to them both, “All yours. Come with.”

Cas shoved his hands hard into his pockets to stop them from trembling; since Cas had increased the amount of time he purposely spent away from Dean, being in his presence made him nervous in ways he really couldn’t understand.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, stuck for something of any meaning to say.

Dean nodded again, shoving his own hands in his pockets and shuffling awkwardly on the spot as he turned this way and that, as though trying to delay his leaving but not finding the words he needed to say to give him a reason to linger.

They stood mirroring each other, avoiding one another’s gaze, and the time ticked away feeling as though it was slowing down around them for them both.

“You should probably come back inside soon. Getting pretty cold up here,” Dean blurted out eventually, still keeping his eyes firmly elsewhere as though anticipating Cas’ unfavorable reaction.

“It has been a hot day. I like it here,”

Another nod from Dean in agreement and he tentatively glanced in Cas’ direction. “Sure. But you know, the temperature drops pretty quickly here. You don’t want to catch—”

“I am fine, Dean,”

“I know. I just… you don’t wanna get sick. ‘Specially if you’re gonna be out hunting again.”

Cas glowered, instantly spiking annoyance at Dean’s constant need to look out for him. “I am fine,” he repeated, turning away again as though he hoped his back would signal Dean’s dismissal.

“Just looking out for you, Cas—”

“Then _stop_ ,”

Cas whirled round again immediately at Dean’s words, his heart pounding in anger and his fists clenching tightly by his sides. “I do not require you to ‘babysit’ me, Dean.”

Dean’s hands slapped hard against his thighs; Cas observed frustration and anger take over Dean’s stance too, and it just added to his own annoyance.

“No one’s babysitting you—”

“ _You_ are, Dean. You are constantly—”

In an unconscious effort to calm himself down Cas began pacing as he continued. “Every single thing I do you correct me, Dean. You check on me, continually, as though I were a stumbling infant instead of a grown man. I may no longer be angel, Dean, but I have existed. And I have lived as human before, as you are more than well aware of,”

“Cas,” Dean said softly, standing perfectly still as Cas paced furiously in front of him. “I’m… I’m just looking out—”

“Then _don’t_!”

Cas’ anger seemed to bounce across the rooftop, echoing out into the stillness of the night and shattering any remnants of Cas’ earlier peace.

“I am tired, Dean. I am tired of feeling so thoroughly helpless when I am not. I am tired of feeling that you feel the need to protect me. You… you need to just… back off, Dean,”

The bite in Cas’ words appeared to deal a physical strike to Dean’s face, but he did little more than shake his head, stand his ground.

“Can’t do that, Cas.”

“Why?” Cas came to a furious halt directly in front of Dean, glaring at him questioningly. “Why can you not just accept that I am human now and capable of caring for myself? I have had to accept this change. I am the one who has to come to terms with… with living this… _small_ existence—”

“Cas, I won’t pretend humanity is anything like a good replacement for what you used to have—”

“You’re doing it again!”

“What?” Dean’s voice finally raised in broken anger and he stared back at Cas pleadingly. “What am I doing?”

“Being so… so… understanding, Dean! When I have been deliberately unkind, you are _still_ attempting to understand me. It is… _infuriating_ ,”

“That… since when’s that a bad thing, Cas?” Dean tried, as though he truly, honestly couldn’t understand Cas’ anger.

“Because I can give you nothing back, Dean. Because… because I feel as though I am a burden when you constantly check and double check everything I do. Because I feel that you no longer… that you… that you see me as somehow _less_ , Dean.”

“Not less, Cas, you’re never—you’re never that, okay?”

“Then why do you insist on watching over me as though I am about to break without your supervision?”

Dean closed his eyes; Cas watched the difficult way he swallowed and felt his heart give out a hard thud. “Is… is it so bad that I care, Cas? That I care about you?”

“You care too much,” Cas objected.

Another harsh statement, another look flitting across Dean’s face as though he was on the receiving end of a blow.

“I....”

Dean opened his mouth to speak but his words just drifted away from him, leaving him staring back at Cas as though he was helpless to go on.

“You what?” As had become a normal reaction for Cas, his anger at Dean surged, blew up out of all proportion, and felt as though it was totally out of his control. Not that he was trying to control it since it felt entirely justified, Cas told himself sternly, even if he couldn’t find the reason for it being so.

“Cas—”

“Just… stop, Dean. I am… I am tired of feeling that I am… that I am…” and Cas’ own words failed him then; he let his head drop back and his eyes fall closed, before allowing himself to look at Dean again. “You act as though…”

“As though what?” Now Dean’s voice turned defensive, and the change of its tone had Cas narrowing his eyes and glaring at him.

“You act as though you are somehow responsible for my wellbeing. For my everything, actually. For… for every decision I make, for what I need to eat, to drink, when to sleep, to exercise. I feel as though I am… you… you act as though I am so important to you, Dean, that you have to monitor my every move,”

Dean’s eyes blew wider and he stumbled a step forward. “You _are_ important to me, Cas. You… you are,”

“Why?”

“How—how can you even ask that, Cas? You....”

“Dean,” and Cas felt the edge of his own voice turn bitter, and cutting. “You do not owe me anything. You do… you are not responsible for my falling nor for my living. You do not need to watch my every move as though… as though you are afraid I might break,”

“What if I _am_ afraid you might break?”

Cas held his breath at Dean’s words, feeling confusion seep through him.

“What…” Dean swallowed awkwardly again, appearing to find a little confidence. “What… what if I _am_ afraid you’ll break, Cas? What if I’m… so scared… of something happening to you. Of _losing_ you, Cas. What… what if I… what if I can’t deal with that?”

Cas felt utterly lost; his mind was blurry and his thoughts unclear, as though there was something he was very distinctly missing that would prove to be very obvious.  

Dean stumbled a little closer, his hand shaking as he reached up to grip lightly around Cas’ arm. “I… I don’t wanna push you, Cas. I don’t. But you can’t just… you can’t just expect me _not_ to worry about you. Not to care about what happens to you. I… I need you, Cas. And I need you safe.”

“Dean,”

“I couldn’t do it, Cas. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any of this… if you weren’t here. If I didn’t have you—”

“‘Have me?’” Cas repeated, shaking his head in bewilderment.

“I mean,” Dean stammered, but his fingers continued to grip onto Cas’ arm and his other raised to mirror the action on his other side. “I mean…”

“What do you mean by ‘have’, Dean?”

Cas watched as Dean’s head fell forward, briefly bumping against Cas’ shoulder before he straightened himself back up. The look on Dean’s face had Cas’ heart racing hard, and his shoulder seemed to tingle as though Dean’s touch was still lingering on him.

“You… you… you’re important to me, Cas,” Dean stumbled out, shifting impossibly closer to Cas until his heat was radiating against Cas’ chest and Cas would swear he could feel Dean’s own heart racing.

“Important,” Cas repeated, the word feeling dumb on his tongue.

Cas held his breath as Dean’s eyes dropped slowly from his, lingering on Cas’ lips as he nervously licked his own. The solid weight of Dean flush against him sent all kinds of mixed signals through him, but Cas couldn’t seem to bring himself to either step away or press closer.

“Yeah, Cas.”

“In what way?”

“In every way, Cas.”

Cas let his own eyes fall to stare stupidly back at Dean’s lips, and all of the thoughts he usually had of Dean that he forcibly suppressed surged through and urged him to look, to lean, to taste. Cas didn’t want to see the _want_ there written on Dean’s face, because he knew he was mistaken, but the insistent way Dean pressed back against him and the soft way he was now whispering Cas’ name seemed to be telling him that _want_ was exactly what he was seeing. That he wasn’t mistaken at all.

“But you have never felt that way for me, Dean. How can I—”

“We were together!”

The silence in the aftermath of Dean’s short outburst was so quiet it felt to Cas as though the entire world had been put on pause. Feeling stuck for something, anything to say that might even begin to make any kind of sense, all Cas could do was stare back at Dean thoroughly dumbstruck.

“‘Together’,” Cas repeated, the word tasting at odds with everything he thought he knew to be true.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean nodded, sounding broken and defeated, and so wounded that Cas thought maybe he might start begging for forgiveness just to take away some of the hurt that he saw on Dean’s face.

“I—”

Cas watched as Dean took a very deliberate step back away from him, and felt himself reaching out automatically to follow but forced himself to stop. He stared, pleading silently for Dean to continue, and watched as he made several attempts to begin speaking.

“We’ve been together for what would have been almost a year and a half Cas,” Dean told him tiredly, his shoulders stooped so dejectedly and his voice so forlorn that Cas felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“‘cept it don’t really count now since you don’t remember any of it.” Dean’s look then was so broken, so pained, that Cas’ fingers flexed by his sides with the urge to reach out and touch him.

“And I don’t know what happened to screw your memories up so you can’t even remember the basics about what’s been the best thing to happen to me in my whole life, but… I gotta tell you, Cas. This… this is killing me,”

Dean paused for a moment and Cas watched him struggle to get a hold of what he was feeling, before he squared his shoulders and carried on.

“You… You’re the best thing in my whole world, Cas. We took so… so long to get our act together that… that I kinda feel like I’m being punished for being so dumb for so long. We were so good together, Cas. You… you made me happier than I ever felt I had the right to be, you know?”

Dean’s composure slipped as he struggled to get out his words, and it took him a few seconds to compose himself before he could continue.

“Everything was so… so _good_ , Cas. And so easy. You and me, we fit together like we belonged, you know? Like… like maybe we both deserved something good in our lives, even if it was just two dumb guys who took forever to figure things out between themselves,”

Cas continued to stare, unable to do anything but listen.

“And it just… it just _worked_ , okay? I don’t… I can’t even go a minute without thinking about it. About you. About _us_ , Cas. I… I go to reach for you, like I used to, and I constantly forget that I can’t. That you don’t… you don’t know that side to us, Cas. That you don’t _want_ that from me anymore. That you don’t want _me_ ,”

Dean’s words came out choked, and Cas watched the tremor along Dean’s jaw that told him he was just seconds away from crying.

“And... And when I roll over in my sleep and you're not there, Cas. I just... It just breaks me.”

This time when Dean’s lip trembled, he didn’t fight it, just allowed the tears to fall freely down his face and thicken his words.

Cas thought that he had never felt so helpless—and confused—in his entire existence.

“I… I miss you, Cas,” Cas watched as Dean’s fingers flexed and unconsciously seemed to reach out to him yet again. “I can’t even… I just miss you, okay? And I keep telling myself you’ll remember, and you’ll still want me, and we’ll be good, but I keep thinking… what if you don’t? ‘Cos honestly? I… I don’t know how to be without you, Cas. I don’t. Not anymore,”

Dean cleared his throat, fixing Cas with a tearful look full of plea and desperation, and it seemed as though his whole body was shaking. “If… I won't push you, Cas, I won’t. But… but if you can find your way back to me, Cas. Please… please come back to me?”

Dean stumbled away from him without another word, with Cas hearing a final snuffle that told him of Dean’s fight to stop the tears he’d seen falling, and found himself alone once more on the rooftop in the heavy silence of the night.

* * *

 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people :)
> 
> So this is the final chapter for this part of the story... but parts two and three are already written! 
> 
> Part 2 is ready to be posted and will follow in a couple of days after this chapter for Fail.
> 
> Part 3 just needs proofreading and will be ready by the time part 2 has been posted—I don't like WIPs either, so I won't keep you waiting :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading :)
> 
> x

Cas stared at the link in Sam's email mistrustfully, finger hovering over but not quite tapping it until he had to drag his hand away from the screen of his tablet.  
  
He hadn't seen Dean since his confession, since Dean had left him standing alone on the rooftop in the aftermath of his words, the coldness of night filled with the revving of the Impala engine and its roar slowly fading as Dean drove away into the night.  
  
When Cas had finally unglued his feet from where he was stood, he'd taken heavy steps to Sam's room, too bewildered to remember to even knock in politeness.  
  
Sam had startled but taken one look at the expression on Cas' face and slowly pushed his laptop to one side, keeping his eyes firmly on Cas'.  
  
"Is it true?" Cas had asked, hearing his own voice waver under the weight of his words.  
  
"Is what true?" Sam had replied, and Cas had found himself unable to say anything more than,  
  
"Dean,"  
  
Sam's face had grown soft with understanding, and he'd sat back, inviting Cas to sit beside him and to ask about anything he wanted to know. Cas had told him he didn't, couldn't believe it, that none of this was happening, that it was beyond cruel to taunt and tease him for feelings he couldn’t help having and he’d tried his hardest to keep to himself.  
  
He'd raged, hurling out unkind words and half-truths, until Sam had suggested looking at photographs of the past year to see for himself.  
  
Which was how he found himself, in the early hours of the morning, still trying and failing to open up a simple link that would unlock a part of his world that Cas didn't even remember existing.  
  
With a determined huff, Cas forced himself to click the link, ignoring the way his heart raced as he waited for the images to load. His heart seemed to shoot up into his throat at what he saw, and Cas unconsciously raised a hand to cover his mouth as he scrolled through.

Cas’ first surprise was that there were so many photos in the first place. Somewhere in his memory he had lost the knowledge that Sam seemed to have a habit of taking pictures on his phone just about everywhere they went. There were pictures of interesting buildings and beautiful landscapes, funny spelling mistakes on hotel and motel signs and sometimes even some of the meals they ate together. But the most intriguing, bewildering pictures Cas was seeing were those that included himself.

Photos of him smiling. Photos of him and Dean, so very obviously together, and happy, and so easily too. It felt like snapshots of some of Cas' dreams; Cas found himself wondering then how many of those things he had seen in his dreams were in fact memories, and everything felt so overwhelming again that Cas had to shut his eyes against the onslaught of information and lay in silence for a while.  
  
When he opened them again, Cas shakily reached out, opening one photo that had his attention in particular. There was something so simple about it; Dean and Cas sat side by side on a log in front of a fire, capturing what Cas suspected was a moment after a case, judging by the smears of dirt to their faces and the weariness in Dean's eyes.  
  
But behind that weariness was happiness, and behind the look Dean was giving him was more affection than Cas ever remembered receiving, and the way their hands were curled together in Dean's lap told of something that Cas had believed up until then to be impossible.  
  
Cas was struck by a deluge of sadness that pinned him heavily to the bed. How could he forget what had to be the happiest part of his life? Why would he forget having his feelings—his love for Dean—being returned and reciprocated, when there were so many other things he would willingly choose to forget in their place? How could he be so fortunate to have Dean care about him in ways Cas had only thought of wistfully for so long, and not be able to remember a second of it?

A thought occurred to Cas then, and he fumbled out a hand to switch the lamp on beside his bed, reaching into the drawer and retrieving his wallet. He opened it out, his heart catching as he looked at the photograph properly this time, and suddenly realized Dean’s earlier hesitation in giving the wallet to him.

The photo was of the three of them, exactly as it had been when he had first looked. But what Cas had failed to see in his anger was the way the three of them were stood together. Sam and Cas were standing almost side by side, and it seemed as though Dean was peering over Cas’ shoulder. On closer inspection, Cas could see that the reason for that was that Dean’s arm was curled around Cas’ waist from behind, and Cas’ own fingers were laced through Dean’s, pressing his hand back against Cas’ stomach.

Together.  
  
So many of Dean's actions since Cas had woken that had seemed strange made perfect sense now, and Cas could scream at his own reactions now that he knew what he knew. With every onslaught of memory of every little thing Dean had done for him, Cas’ heart sank a little further. He wanted to reach for Dean, to give him comfort for all he had been through, for all the hurt he had inflicted on Dean himself. But sitting there looking at these photographs and being overwhelmed with such utter guilt, and loss, Cas found himself faced with a greater hurdle than he thought was possible.  
  
He had forgotten how to be that version of himself that Dean wanted. He didn't remember anything about their time together, or things they may have done together, or anything about _them_ at all.

What if he could never be the person that Dean had clearly once loved?

* * *

"It is not that I do not care about you Dean, because I do. I think that you must know that. I _have_ cared about you. For longer than you are probably aware."

  
Damage control. That was what Sam had called it earlier when enough hours had passed of Cas not sleeping and he had yet again sought Sam out; minimizing the pain he had caused by trying to offer a full and honest explanation. Attempting to explain to Dean what he was concerned about. Opening up. Being honest. Giving his own, confused point of view.

From the look on Dean's face, Cas had a long way to go before he could reduce the hurt Dean was so obviously feeling. But, Cas told himself firmly, he would continue to try, however hard it got. He owed Dean that, and so very much more.

It had taken a full day of Dean being away from the bunker, of Cas pacing the halls and straining his ear to hear the Impala returning, of staring at the photos Sam had given him until they were practically burned into the backs of his eyes. Of trying desperately to search for memories that he feared would always be out of his reach, for Dean to finally come back, and Cas to work up the courage and seek him out, attempt to speak to him.

Dean's jaw clenched as he stood before him now, his arms folded tight across his chest as though shielding himself, not quite able to make eye contact. "You told me once. That... That it started early for you. Like... Not that long after we met."

Dean's tone was standoffish, which was exactly what Cas knew to expect, but he could still hear hope there, and he wanted to lean in, to offer comfort that he didn't yet know how to do. Or remember how to do, even. All he could really do, without voicing his confusion, was nod.  
  
Dean shifted his stance a little, his eyes flicking once to Cas' before rapidly darting away again as though scared of what he might see. "You told me. That at first, you didn't know what it was you were feeling, that you were... I guess confused by it all."  
  
"I remember watching you rake leaves at Lisa's house," Cas told him, not avoiding the way his voice became biting around Lisa's name. "I remember thinking that that was what you really wanted in your life. That... Although it was painful to see you with... Her... That if it meant that you were happy, that it was for the best if I did not reveal myself to you."  
  
Dean nodded, shifting again, a quick close of his eyes as though he was trying to regain his composure. "Yeah, I remember you telling me, Cas. And like I told you then—I wish to god you would have. I mean. Lisa's awesome, she... She took me in and gave me something I didn't ever think I'd get to have. But... Being with her? All I could think about was how much I felt I was just… playing a role. Living a life I didn’t really deserve to have. About how much... How much I found myself wanting to be with you. It scared the hell out of me, Cas, but… when it happened… nothing ever felt as right as _we_ did, you know?"  
  
Cas' heart sank. Even in giving Dean this memory, of revealing something of himself that Cas was certain he had never told another soul, and Dean was already there, with a counter memory, with more than Cas could ever hope to give him in return.  
  
"I am... Sorry, Dean," Cas felt helpless to say or do anything more. Dean watched him cautiously, clenching his jaw and breathing out hard as though forcing something difficult from his thoughts.  
  
"You know... One time... You said. You said me and you were like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett. 'Cos we were both in the middle of... Of loving each other before we knew it'd started, or whatever the stupid quote is,"  
  
The brokenness in Dean's voice had Cas stumbling closer to him.  
  
"And... I tried to be mad at you, Cas, I really did. For comparing what we had to... To something so sappy, you know? For… I don’t know. Making it all sound so… I don’t know. _Romantic_ , or whatever. But you were right. It's true. And I... I can't ever make myself regret that, not any of it. Not even after all that's happened here,"  
  
"Dean—"  
  
"I miss you," And that brokenness finally cracked, with Cas watching helplessly as tears spilled on to Dean's cheeks.  
  
"And I... I don't know what I'm gonna do without you. If you don't… if you can't remember, or feel the same again, or—"  
  
"Dean," Cas kept his voice gentle as he took yet another step closer, hesitantly reaching up to rest his hands on Dean's arms.  
  
"It is not that I do not... It is... I _love_ you, Dean. And I know I have loved you for a very long time," Cas held his breath, scared of his own confession, still expecting Dean to pull away from him and leave.  
  
"But?" Dean asked, without moving anywhere at all, doing nothing to try to wipe his tears away as he looked back at Cas beseechingly, his breath coming out sharp and fast.  
  
"But I fear I cannot be the... The version of myself that you remember and I do not, Dean. I... There are things you have shared with someone that is not me. I cannot be that person,"  
  
"But you _are_ him, Cas. You _are_. Everything about you is —"  
  
"I am different, Dean," Cas countered as gently as he could, hating the way his words seemed to be twisting further wounds into Dean, despite being nothing but true. "I cannot be... I... I do not believe you would be happy with me the way I am. I cannot... We cannot begin again as though things are what they once were between you and... That version of me."  
  
"We don't know that. We don't know any of that, not until we try," Dean argued back; the plea in his voice forcing tears to fall from Cas' own eyes.  
  
"What if I fail you, yet again, Dean?" Cas whispered the cruelest question that had been bouncing around his mind since he'd become human. "What if... What if I am not who you believe me to be? What if... What if... What if I disappoint you, because I cannot remember, because I am different?"  
  
"Cas..." Dean sobbed, unfolding his arms and causing Cas' hands to drop, but quickly raising his hands to snag their fingers together and stepping closer until their chests were bumping. "In a million years you couldn't disappoint me, Cas. Everything we've done together. Everything you've done for me. Cas... I can't even begin to tell you what you've done for me. You've... Made me the best version of myself, you know?"  
  
Cas shook his head, disbelieving, quietly surprised to find just how natural and _practiced_ it felt to be stood there holding Dean’s hands. "If anyone is responsible for that, Dean, then it is you. You are... Astonishing, Dean. With all you do, with everything that you give. I cannot take credit for the man that you are, Dean,"  
  
"Then can you take credit for being the one to make me feel _whole_ , Cas? 'Cos that's what you do to me. You do, Cas. You make me whole. And I... I’m so lost without you, Cas, I..."  
  
As Dean's voice trailed away, all Cas could do was give into his instincts, to attempt to let them lead, and hope they would do something to help lessen the hurt he was seeing on Dean’s face. He gently untangled their fingers, and reached out to loop his shaking arms around Dean's neck to pull him close. Dean instantly fell against him, gripping his arms around Cas' back and pressing his nose into Cas' neck. Cas gripped tighter, as though that would somehow stop the way Dean's entire body was trembling against him.

"I miss you, Cas,"

Cas felt his heart sinking even more; not only was he a different person to the one Dean was remembering, but there was this sinking, unsettling thought that this kind, open, willing to speak version of Dean was not the person he remembered Dean being either.

* * *

 _Tell him about the things you used to do together_. That was what Sam had said, and that comment had been playing on loop in Dean's head for much of the day since Sam had said it to him over breakfast. A breakfast that felt far too quiet without Cas there, because a week after Dean’s resolve had finally broken and he’d told Cas their secret, Cas still needed time, and what seemed like a lot of space.

They’d barely talked apart from the most mundane of conversations; Cas had even refused to join them on the hunt they’d been so carefully preparing him for. Every one of Dean’s messages from the road that were thoroughly thought out before sending to Cas were unanswered.  
  
_Tell him what you used to do for one another_. Another of Sam's suggestions; Dean wondered when Sam had found the time to take on a course in therapy. In any case, that also felt like stupid advice, as though he'd be guilt-tripping Cas for all the things he couldn't remember when it wasn’t his fault.  
  
No, if anyone knew Cas, and what might get through to Cas, then it was Dean. He knew, or at least, had known all of his fears, his hopes, his quirks that made him so distinctly _Cas_. So if anyone could presume to know what was best for Cas, it was Dean. And since patience had been torn, stretched and warped in these past few months, perhaps now was the time to give Cas some things that only he could give him.

Dean hoped that that would be enough, because if Cas pushed him away this time, Dean didn’t know how he would live with it. With himself.

Dean sought Cas out on the roof of the bunker, just where he had expected to find him as he had done so many times before. Dean watched as Cas carefully tended to the plants he had been growing there since _before_ , since Dean had brought him his first plant and told him it was a housewarming gift. A reminder that though he was an angel and always needed to leave, he would always have somewhere to come back to. Always have a home.  
  
"Daisies, zinnias and asters," Dean called across the roof in a clear voice that carried, before walking over and gently tracing his fingers over the head of one of the daisies growing there. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Cas jolted with surprise at the sound of his voice, then waited until Cas turned to him before nodding at the flowers in front of him and continuing. "You planted these to attract bees. We sit here sometimes and just watch them. Least, you watch them; I usually just watch you and the way your face lights up to see them."  
  
Cas rewarded Dean with a cautious, shy smile, and Dean felt strong enough to continue.  
  
"When it gets hot, we've got this little irrigation system going that feeds water from our showers so Sam can't complain about wasting water. 'cos you know how much he bitches and moans about the environment every chance he gets,"  
  
Another flicker of a smile and Dean felt ready to turn to face Cas full on.  
  
"Some nights we sit up here and just look at the stars, and you tell me about constellations and nebulae and all kindsa stuff that just blows my mind, Cas. No one tells a story like you do,"  
  
Dean had Cas' full attention now; he could see it in the way Cas' face took on a guarded expression, and how he stood rigidly, as though he was either afraid to move or about to bolt.  
  
"You watch over me when I sleep. You lay there in our bed, and I swear you're counting cosmic sheep or something to pass the time, 'cos you always look like you're concentrating real hard when I wake up,"  
  
"Your favorite shirt is a blue plaid one that you know looks damn good on you. You borrow my t-shirts all the time, and I swear you do it just to distract me. You know I’ve got a thing about you wearing my stuff, and it works every damn time,"  
  
"You beat me at air hockey every time we play, but you suck at every shooting game, which makes no sense at all,"  
  
"When you hold my hand when we're out somewhere, any time someone gives us any shit for it you grip me a little tighter and circle your thumb over the back of my hand like you’re trying to distract me from kicking off, while you glare like you’re gonna smite the life out of them,"  
  
"When we're in the car and it's just us, you hold my hand. Sometimes we do it when Sam's there in the back and you shoot him daggers in the rearview like you're gonna smite _him_ if he comments,"  
  
"You keep counting and recounting my freckles, and I don't know why you get such a kick out of it but last count we were up to almost two hundred,"  
  
"You steal my fries when you think I'm not looking and drink way too much coffee for someone who apparently doesn’t even _need_ a caffeine fix,"  
  
"Sometimes we take a drive out somewhere, just you and me and no destination, and we just like... Stop. Sit. Talk a while. I usually fall asleep on you in the back seat; you're like my own personal heating system,"  
  
"You read to me,"  
  
"There's this spot right between your shoulder blades you like being touched. I keep telling you it's 'cos your wings'd come out just there if they were joined to your body instead of being corporeal, but you just say it's 'cos it feels good,"  
  
"Your wings are awesome, Cas. Everything about you is,"  
  
As Dean continued his list of seemingly random facts, he took one stumbling step after another towards Cas, watching his reaction with every pace.  
  
"When I get injured, you kiss me better. I like it when you threaten to do the same to Sam when he's being a dick about us 'being all over each other',"  
  
"You never let me go to sleep angry,"  
  
"You remember the date of the deaths of everyone me and Sam have ever lost, and check in on them in heaven, let me know they're doing okay,"  
  
Dean was a couple of feet away from Cas now, able to see the tremor on Cas' lips and the way his shoulders were tensing up.  
  
"I'm the luckiest guy alive to have you, Cas. And whenever I complain about how long it took to get us here, you just remind me none of it matters now, 'cos we're good, right now, just as we are. We just _fit_ , you know? Like… like we’ve always been _this_. We’re just so _easy,_ "  
  
"You love me, Cas. So much. And when I tell you I don't deserve it you argue with me 'til I back down. And you win, every single time. 'Cos for whatever reason, I get to have this, to have _you_. I wake up every morning feeling like I've won some kind of jackpot."  
  
One more step, one pace closer and Dean could see the tears brimming in Cas' eyes.  
  
"And I love you, Cas. God, I love you. It took me so long to be able to tell you it out loud and now I hate myself for not having told you every damn day. Screw how sappy it is; it’s _true_. And I don't care if I have to wait forever for you to remember. I just wanted to tell you I remember enough for the both of us. And —And I'll wait for you, Cas, I’ll… I’ll do whatever you need me to do. I'm not giving up on this, Cas. Not giving up on you. I'm not... Not ever, okay?"  
  
Dean took a final step, reaching out to wipe away a tear that was making its way down Cas' face. He watched the tremble along Cas' jaw grow, waiting and holding his breath to see what Cas would do.  
  
"Cas..."  
  
The wind was knocked out of Dean with the force of Cas' hug, arms wrapped around him so tightly as he pressed his nose hard into Dean's neck as though he was trying to inhale him. Sobs racked through Cas' body and Dean did his best to offer comfort, running soothing palms down his back and whispering placating words into his hair, unable to resist skimming over it with his lips and breathing in deep.  
  
"We're gonna get through this, Cas. You and me. We will,"

* * *

 


End file.
